


the city never sleeps

by DwellonErised



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 711! AU, M/M, Minor Angst, Zayn Malik - Freeform, excessive amounts of zayn malik, excessive detailling, gas station convenience store love??, not actually a thing but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwellonErised/pseuds/DwellonErised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my <i>God</i>, I thought people who worked at run down convenience stores at three in the morning were supposed to be philosophical or some shit and tell us stupid uni kids to head home before the mad man comes and kills us and hides our bodies in the gas tanks. Who the hell are <i>you</i>?”</p><p>“I’m Harry.” <i>(and I want to listen to you talk all night and draw your tattoos and read stories about you).</i></p><p>-</p><p>Or, where Harry works the graveyard shift at the local gas station convenience store and doesn't dream, Louis hates the social situation and writes, and Zayn is the Regular for whom Liam pines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the city never sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this unbelievable mess of strange verb tenses and detailling. It's been months in the progress, but since summer eventually rolled around it also eventually got finished. Forewarning, however, I've never actually worked the graveyard shift at the local gas station convenience store so if there are any inconsistencies please do overlook. Same with Charcot-Wilbrand; I am clearly not an expert and leaned heavily on less-than-accurate Wikipedia. (Also, this might have turned into an accidental love letter to Zayn Malik. Oops.)  
> Warning: Though completely distasteful and minor, there is slight homophobia and homophobic language later on. If it is a trigger, please do avoid.  
> Disclaimer: This work is utter and complete fiction and is in no way affiliated with the actual members of the band One Direction, nor with the many brands mentioned. They are all individually trademarked and I make no profit from their use whatsoever. Sadly.
> 
> Title inspired by Ed's 'The City'. Also found on tumblr: avengermalik
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**the city never sleeps**

It’s raining when Harry wakes that significant Wednesday. The loud kind of raining that batters everything and demands to be heard, much like a toddler or an obstinate young person with strong opinions on the social condition. So loud is the rain that Harry’s alarm for exactly 1:27 AM (even numbers are much too political in Harry’s opinion) is overshadowed, though his sleep deprived mind is already groaning awake, instilled in a grueling schedule.  There’s validity for him to be up at this hour of course; he’s not so in tune with his spirituality that he can get up before the sun and write poetry (much to his regret.) Harry works, actually, like any normal person is forced to do once they receive the letter saying “Yes! We want you! Spend the next 4 years of your life stressed out and hungover but learning!’ Therefore, Harry wakes every weekday morning at 1:27 to work, instead of sleeping or partying or drinking or smoking. (But preferably just thinking because Harry just isn’t a sleeping or partying or drinking or smoking kind of guy).

See, Harry works the graveyard shift at the local gas station convenience store _Quick Stop!_ and it’s not _weird_. Instead of uni parties and beer pong and drunken sex he doesn’t remember in the morning, Harry has energy drinks and 5 hours of silence and the occasional addict.

He’s checked the dictionary; ‘Harry Styles’ is not actually the definition of _recluse_.

His nights are simple really; trudge to the gas station, (always fluorescently lit like a beacon in the dark), wake his friend Niall (who slept during his shift, but curiously has never gotten robbed), and sit in silence for the rest of the night, surrounded by salty pre packaged foods and lottery tickets (No one has ever won at his store, Harry might actually be bad luck). It’s peaceful in ways Harry doesn’t talk about, for saying that sitting alone in a gas station convenience store at three in the morning is _peaceful_ is frowned upon, it’s _peculiar_. So Harry sticks with the other word he uses to describe his nights: _suffocating_. Though sitting in silence (though not complete silence, ever; there’s a constant buzzing to the store, a constant whirring) is opportune to shift and organize one’s thoughts, there are nights when one’s thoughts can get out of control. And in those nights, Harry feels suffocated, for only having silence (a constant, buzzing silence) and his thoughts as company for hours is bad, it’s _all consuming_. So then, Harry began to read. He read every night from two to six, only glancing up out of his literary stupor to ring up his occasional late night customer. However, only weeks after Harry’s vocabulary was becoming literarily fluent (and maybe, possibly verging on pretentious,) his boss had found his stash of Bradbury novels hidden among the receipt refills. Therefore, Harry’s future as an English professor was lost, and he retired to playing an odd riddle game on his phone, a game Harry was rather incredible at, he found. (And his friend, Niall, may suggest that Harry was testing the waters of antisociality, but Niall is only on level 48, so it’s _clearly_ the jealousy talking.)

And even though Perrie, the pixie girl with colourful hair who worked the shift after Harry’s, got most of the early customers like truckers and the late commuter, Harry did get the occasional consumer from his shift at two to six. And though he never gets to ring up cheap coffee for truckers who tipped _annoyingly_ well, Perrie has told him on more than one occasion, he does get to meet some fairly odd folk. There’s the occasional drunk or high guy who engages him in _reveling_ conversation and buy either milk or 10 lottery tickets, or even the rare businessman who barely tosses him a glance as he rings up cheap coffee and Monster. However, despite the arrogant businessmen and occasionally insane lottery ticket buyer, Harry’s least favourite customers are the teenagers. And despite the fact that Harry just recently entered the big 2-0 himself, teenagers seem heavily below him as they run into the store, giggling with their friends, and steal a banana or a pack of the cheap cigarettes. And because Harry is just not a confrontation type of guy, he just throws a halfhearted ‘hey!’ out the door, before sighing and ringing up the lost banana and cigarette pack from his own pocket. It’s all very exciting, his life.

Harry even has a regular, which seems impossible for a two to six graveyard shift at a _Quick Stop!_ , but maybe he’s just _that_ charming. It’s a boy, or maybe a man,  (Harry can’t really tell; it’s as if the boy made a sudden unexpected switch into a man, but really, despite his gaunt face, he would be no older than Harry himself). The Regular shows up once every two or three weeks, hair sometimes unkempt and others frighteningly _perfectly_ styled, but each time, he reaches for the same pack of cigarettes and sometimes tips Harry a coin or two extra. He’s a pretty boy, his Regular, (and Harry’s allowed to call boys pretty; he came to terms with which sex he chose to call pretty ages ago) but he seems dark, too. And not dark as in skin, or dark as in he frowned constantly, but dark as in _soul._ His eyes were constantly lost someplace indistinct, and Harry could very well occupy a majority of his time coming up with a tragic back-story for this mysterious man who was quite literally, the personification of the word _intriguing_.

 The days when his hands shook, for example, Harry could think that he was lost, lost in the haze of Marlboros smoke which he so dedicatedly bought. When his face was smeared with what appeared to be droplets of midnight blue and his hands waved absently as if holding an invisible paintbrush, Harry’d think he was an artist, struggling days and nights in urban London to live, to be found, to _breathe_. The day he had worn a ripped up jumper revealing his ink, Harry had thought he was an author, telling his story on skin rather than wrinkled parchment.  There were spirals of darkness and images and scars, words inked carelessly but so _carefully_.

-

“Search for your own story, Harry, not that of others,” his mother had so often said, and if only she’d known that was impossible.

-

In one of his unkempt hair days, The Regular had shown up rather out of breath and had grabbed a pack of Marlboros and fled, but not before glancing up at Harry, his usually lost eyes pleading, sad, broken. And so, Harry had tossed a few coins into the till with a sigh because it was his _Regular_ and sometimes sacrifices had to be made.  The next time The Regular had shown up, his hair was once again styled, and this time with his usual Marlboros he had a Twix bar as well, and he had left the store so fast Harry couldn’t give him back the 5 dollars of change he had left behind.

Today, however, Harry wasn’t expecting a customer at all, because interesting people just had more important things to do than visit a poorly named gas station convenience store at 2 o clock on a _Wednesday_. So, as Harry got ready, slipping on the _atrocious_ company green t-shirt and his own dark jeans, he was a bit slower than usual, styling his hair with a bit more _unf_ than he would usually, despite the fact that the only people who would probably see it were Niall and Perrie, who had the shifts before and after him, respectively. He ignores the gray smudges beneath his eyes as per usual, before grabbing his wallet and tattered umbrella and heading swiftly out the door.

The trudge to the store is wet, though the rain significantly more hushed as it falls  rhythmically onto Harry’s threadbare umbrella. And he should probably have been scared, walking the empty streets at 1:57 in the morning, but he really wasn’t; Harry had done this walk hundreds of times before, and if anyone had ever wanted to jump him, they would have by now. The only valuable thing he had on him was his seven dollar company t-shirt, and he would probably hand that over willingly. Other than that was his phone, and no thug was getting their hands on his phone that held his level 289 on the riddle game, oh _no_.

So Harry is fairly confident as he reaches the end of the street, where the streetlights are out constantly. The gas station’s beacon began here and he follows it, the fluorescent light that stayed on day and night guiding him to the door of the shop.

 “Niall, I’m here, you can wake up,” Harry says, dumping his umbrella behind the counter and waking the blond who lay in apparent slumber. “Someday, an actual customer is going to come in while you’re snoring off and they’ll go and steal the cash register, just you watch.”

“Yeah Harry whatever, mate, you’re late,” Niall yawns, shoulders cracking as he stretches his pale arms above his head. “Nice hair by the way. Don’t know who you’re showing off to but I’m not interested, I told you from the moment we met.”

“It’s a Wednesday, it’s slow, and you were sleeping anyways,” Harry rolls his eyes as Niall grabs an apple as he packs up his stuff. “Blondes aren’t my type, remember? Also, you have to pay for that.”

“Employee perks,” Niall says between a bite, while glancing morosely out into the storming land behind the glass panes. “ _Fuck_. It’s bloody pouring out there.”

Harry glances out the panes contemplatively; there was probably a very good chance that a drenched, knife wielding madman could appear out of the gray and stab him to death tonight. Wonderful. “Take my umbrella, it’ll lighten up by the time my shift is through,” he says, because Harry is just a good person ok. And also, he kind of loves Niall and doesn’t _really_ want him to drown out there. Not _really_.

“I fucking love you Harry.  If you wash away without your umbrella at 7 o clock, I will personally come looking for your body because I love you.” Niall grins, and it’s blinding; the genuineness that embodies Niall is _blinding_. He’d always been like that, ever since Harry had latched onto him like a leech on the first day of uni orientation. Niall had actually gotten Harry the job, after the “I’m Broke Niall, Bury Me Alive” Incident months back. He put up with Harry despite his aversion to sleep and his aversion to so many _things_ and Harry loved him for it.

 “Yeah, get going- _fuck_ Niall you absolute _tosser,_ ” Harry yells, as Niall runs out the door with Harry’s umbrella and two _un-bought_ candy bars. Harry sometimes hates Niall.

**x**

The first few hours of Harry’s shift go by slowly; after restocking empty donut canisters and filling up the Slushie machine, he’s once again left in silence, riddling his way to level 300. Only the wind shakes him out of his reverie, as it rattles the glass panes of the window looking over the fluorescent, empty gas station. It’s similar to a snow globe, almost; the gas station in its own little world of peace and serenity and brightness, just lacking the salt snow and paint faced children licking little plastic candy canes.(A world which, really, wouldn’t be that horrible, Harry had proposed that one day he had gotten stoned and had entertained the thought. He doesn’t get stoned again for a while.)

  The rain splatters louder and Harry thinks harder and the store remains empty and silent, despite the steady whirring of the Slushie machine that really should be turned off at night, Harry had proposed, because who in their right mind gets a Slushie at three in the morning. He’s just an environmentally conscious sort of guy.

As the rain storms on outside, Harry’s thoughts shift to the scary stories Niall had told him when he was still fresh and new and unaware of the nothingness of the graveyard shift. Niall had told him stories about dismembered voices coming from the dairy fridges, and hooded figures coming out of the gas station, but despite popular opinion, Harry actually _isn’t_ a goddamn kitten, so these stories did nothing but make him jump just a little when the dairy fridges hiccupped or a hoodie clad man walked in at 4am for a Monster and some candy.

Only once had Harry been genuinely afraid during his post at the cash register and that was only when an unexpected car alarm went off loudly outside and a man had walked in with a suspiciously weapon shaped bump in his coat pocket. Harry had been sure that he’d be held up or shot or get his phone stolen, but none of those dastardly doings actually occurred and the man had just bought a pack of Marlboros and some instant ramen. It’s a fond memory.

However, half way through his intense analyzing of ‘ _What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries’,_ Harry hears laughter, and not ‘ _the laughter of the wind’_   like one of his riddle answers, but actual, human laughter and he has a moment to be afraid before a  sopping group of giggling people run inside the store. Harry sighs. Drunken teenagers aren’t his cup of tea on regular days; _wet_ drunken teenagers while nature currently kills itself outside just makes Harry want to walk out. Well, if nature wasn’t _killing itself_ outside.

“ _Shit_ guys shut up, there’s an employee here. You’re so fucking embarrassing,” A fit brunette (Harry is appreciative) whispers, after quickly glancing up at Harry before going back to shushing his giggling friends.

“Oh fuck off Liam, you’re the one who wanted to go get your fucking energy drink while the world practically kills itself out there,” snaps another boy with brown hair and Harry may have made a small noise because _the boy used his hyperbole what the actual fuck._

“Yeah, mate? You want us to shut up? We bothering you?” The same boy glances up, and Harry doesn’t get nervous at most times, but the blunt boy with the damp brown hair and blue eyes and spiraling tattoos across his exposed ankles used his _hyperbole_ and that was quite strange, Harry was fairly creative with his hyperboles.

“Um. Yeah,” Harry stammers, before cursing himself as the boy raises one thin eyebrow expectantly. “I mean, no. Go ahead. Just riddling.”

The boy grins before shoving his embarrassed friend, _Liam_ , and walking towards the drink aisle. “See Liam? The chap is just _riddling_.”

Harry tosses his phone onto the counter and groans lowly. These weren’t the typical drunk teenagers, but rather the sober uni students who walked in for a late night snack while on a studying binge. These groups came in every exam season with pale skin and bags under their eyes, and Harry would once again be forced to remind himself that instead of studying for _his_ own exams, he was manning a counter that maybe served three or four people a week. Harry’s lectures and tutorials were thankfully, later in the day so as soon as he returned from work Harry could just take a short nap before studying during the day and heading to bed at an embarrassing seven o clock. And it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t really sleep then either; he rests his body but his mind reels as it does consistently, but the few hours of quiet slumber he does get are enough and _enough_ is all he needs.

Harry recognizes a girl in the group, surprisingly. Her name is Eleanor, he remembers, and she sat right near the door in his Advanced Sociology class. And while Harry isn’t exactly _unpopular_ , he rarely hung with the _in_ crowd, like Eleanor, who threw major parties on weeknights and were just widely known about on campus. The other boys, a broad, brown headed one, a gangly dirty blonde, the hyperbole boy and _Liam_ , Harry has never seen, probably due to his relative antisociality. It wasn’t as if Harry didn’t _have_ any friends; he had Niall and his mates who hung around the old record shops on the east side of downtown, who wrote songs and smoked and took pictures with rusty old polaroids (and not _those fucking gay-ass ones, who the fuck are you Harry_ , as his friend Nick had put it, when Harry had innocently asked if his dirty old Polaroid was from a new selection at Urban Outfitters.)  On the weekends, when Harry actually didn’t have to get up to head to the empty old gas station, he would spend the nights spread out on the floor of his friend Ed’s dingy old apartment on the East End, while Ed played untuned chords while they drank and Harry wrote and they listened to the sirens outside which never seemed to stop; a constant reminder that there was always something, anything, _everything_ wrong in the world. And it was fine because Ed had good books and good beer and good music and good soul and a good little cat that climbed atop Harry as he slept, because Ed told stories through song and his soft voiced tales sometimes made appearances in Harry’s empty slumber. (And it might be the highlight of Harry’s week, but he doesn’t say that out loud.)

“Hey? What the fuck’s wrong with this guy? Hey, mate, all that riddling gone to your head or something?” Harry glances back around in surprise; his head still seemingly lost in the East Side, with Ed’s untuned riffs plucking absently against his skull.

“Yeah? Sorry.” It’s the hyperbole boy, the faint trace of irritation whisked off his face with a blinding grin. Harry decides the boy is quite fit after appraising him noncommittally; all tan skin and cerulean eyes and tattoos. The boy seems rough and intimidating with his shaggy hair and scruff, but really, he’s _pretty_ , with shining eyes and a grin that takes up his whole face. He’s a pretty punk boy with tattoos who used hyperboles; an almost perfect person, Harry thinks, at first glance. A practically perfect person Harry suddenly wants to know inside out and sing songs to and write about and just _look_ at.

“Wow, listen to that voice. You’re like a rock. That talks. I mean you don’t particularly _look_ like a rock, you’re quite fit actually.” The boy leans over the counter and grins at Harry, while his friend Liam nudges him with a grunt.

“Ok.” Harry isn’t much of a talker as he is of a ( _I’ll take pictures of you and write you songs and write about you and your tattoos),_ thinker.

“Ok? He said _ok_ to me Liam, after I called him fit. Ok.” The boy stares at Harry and Harry stares back, as Liam hands him a pack of Gatorade with a small smile. His appearance is also quite misleading, Harry thinks; his Jersey Shore-esque haircut and obnoxiously buff arms distract from his kind brown eyes and thin laugh lines.

“Sorry. Louis’s kind of weird.” _Louis_. Harry thinks the name fits quite well for a pretty punk boy who used very good short-story vocabulary, really.

“ _Liam_. Don’t tell fit people that. Speaking of, you’re young, right? Do you go to uni? Unless your life ambition was to work at a _Quick Stop!_ at three in the morning, which is great, that’s fine, that’s cool.” Louis smiles once more at Harry, as Liam hands him the correct change and shakes his head to a plastic bag. Harry is not the only environmentally conscious one, it seems.

“Yeah, I do.” Harry stifles his smile as Louis groans into Liam’s shoulder. How completely _alive_ this person was, eyes still shining and voice still rising even at an hour where exuberant  life was so  completely _rare_.

 Louis rests his elbows upon the lottery ticket laden counter top then, and peers inquisitively at Liam. “Does he only have, like, four words in his vocabulary or something? This is too much; I liked the downpour better than this.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh my _god_ , I thought people who worked at run down convenience stores at three in the morning were supposed to be philosophical or some shit and tell us stupid uni kids to head home before the mad man comes and kills us and hides our bodies in the gas tanks. Who the hell are _you_?”

“I’m Harry.” ( _and I want to listen to you talk all night and draw your tattoos and read stories about you)._

Just then, the rest of the group that Liam and Louis walked in with migrate over and set down bags of crisps and energy drinks and candy, bringing around a loud energy that Harry just isn’t _used_ to during his quiet shift at 3 am. All of a sudden, his constant companion of silence (buzzing, whirring silence) and thoughts, (suffocating yet _necessary_ thoughts) are overshadowed, completely covered by laughter and groans and quips from the blue eyed brunette.

“I’m Louis, by the way. Guys, this is Harry, he doesn’t talk much and he goes to uni. Say hi,” Louis announces, turning to his friends, whose loud babble calm down slightly as they shoot quick greetings to Harry, who just smiles because _loud_. And loud was _not_ his thing, which should be apparent really, by his choice of profession.

“Hey, aren’t you in Advanced Socio with Grayson? Harry Styles, right? Louis, how the hell do you make friends so fast? We’ve been here literally five minutes.” Eleanor turns to him with a smile, as Louis swings a lazy hand over her shoulder. And Harry _knows_ Eleanor had a boyfriend and said boyfriend had sat next to her in Advanced Sociology for the past 4 months but.

“Yeah, hi. Eleanor right? Oh, are you and Louis, um, together?” Harry Styles is many things, but sadly for all, subtle is not one of them.

Eleanor giggles rather overdramatically then, causing Louis to roll his eyes in distaste. “Oh my god, _no_. Lou is great but _no_ definitely not, ever. He’d never have _me_ either, of course.”

 “You don’t have to sound so repulsed, yeah?”

 Harry grins, as he begins to check out the group’s purchases, and this may actually be the most socializing he’d done during his shift since, well, _ever_. (And giving a small smile to his Regular when he showed up didn’t count for socializing apparently, according to Niall.) While customers who came to buy milk and smokes at 4 am were _interesting_ they weren’t usually up for long prolonged discussions with the tall kid with lots of hair behind the counter.

“Hey, before you bill it I just have to grab a pack, one second.” Harry glances up as Liam walks towards the panel of cigarettes in the corner, and while he isn’t exactly Sherlock worthy in his deductions, Harry would have never thought that the doe eyed boy would be a smoker. Liam had _layers_. Cool.

“Smoking kills, Li,” Louis calls out, as Liam responds with a quick “ _you literally just took one from me yesterday Lou”,_ and Harry chuckles just as the door to the store opens again. This was probably the second time Harry ever had so many people in the shop during his shift. And it was a _Wednesday_. It’s historic, really. And stifling. A little stifling.

It’s his Regular at the door, and if he’s even vaguely speculative of the crowd of loud people in the usually ghost-town gas station, he doesn’t show it as he walks briskly to where Liam stood by the rack of cigarettes. His hair isn’t styled today, but instead alive with dots of sunset-orange speckling its blackness like a halo of miniature suns.

“Excuse me,” The Regular mutters, as Liam jumps a little from his careful speculation of cigarette packs when _there were just three brands honestly_ , Harry thinks. The Regular quickly grabs his usual pack of Marlboros and proceeds to the counter, where Harry still stood checking out the large order from Louis’ group. He’s more closed off than usual, Harry notices, actively ignoring the loud group of people and wringing his hands. His eyes don’t seem so lost today, but quite the contrary; like they’re painfully aware of everything going on around them.  Harry understands then, suddenly, why The Regular is _his_ Regular, and not Niall’s or Perrie’s or Steve’s, who worked the bustling 5 pm shift. This intriguing and mysterious shadow/artist/author didn’t come to this gas station convenience store by _chance_.  It wasn’t because of convenience or to stare at the smiling boy behind the counter; Harry’s shift was during a ghost hour, and the only people the Regular would have to vaguely interact with _was_ the smiling boy behind the counter. Until _now_.

“Marlboros, eh? I’m more for Camel, really.” Harry winces slightly as he hears Liam’s awkward laugh following his statement, and his sentiment is vocalized by a low groan from Louis, who had shut up a few seconds prior. Harry glances up and sees Louis doing the same; staring pityingly at Liam who had shuffled awkwardly next to The Regular, who just hums and continues to look down, waiting for Harry to finish his order.

“You look quite young. Come here often?” Harry mentally facepalms as Louis mutters, “He sounds like a goddamn cougar, hurry the fuck up Harry.”

Harry complies, stuffing all the processed food into bags, with one ear still open towards The Regular and Liam, because he has never actually heard The Regular talk before _ok._ The Regular could have a deep voice, or a high one; a raspy one or maybe, no voice at all.  His voice in itself could destroy any flimsy back story Harry had ever framed him in.

“I suppose.” His voice is nice, Harry decides. It’s nice and soft and accented; a perfect voice for the mysterious gas station wanderer Harry has placed him as.

“I’m-” Liam begins, but The Regular had begun to shuffle away and Harry was _not_ going to lose his Regular no matter how much he liked Louis and his buff, smoking, awkward friend.

“Liam. I need to bill you.” Harry may feel a little bad as Liam flushes and apologizes, and maybe even a bit worse as Louis smirks, but his Regular stays where he is, so. Mission accomplished.

“Ok then. I think that’s enough with our late night rendezvous at the gas station. Let’s get going yeah, before the storm gets even more fucking dangerous?” Louis states, just as the group forks out the last of their change to Harry, and Liam begins nervously trying to turn around and strike up conversation again. The group mutters in unison as they make their slow way out of the store, some already snacking on some crisps and complaining about the storm, which hadn’t eased off even during Harry’s unexpected socialization.

Louis winks at Harry then, clasping a firm arm around Liam so as to keep him in place, much to his apparent distaste. “Well, see you Harry I Don’t Know Your Last Name. Let us bump into each other again in the near future, and all that.”

“See you Louis. Liam.” The latter gives a small smile, before he’s whipped around by Louis and steered to the door.

“Also, Harry? It’s a towel. What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries? A towel. You’re welcome.” Louis shoots him one last grin as he steps out of the store and into the rain with Liam in tow and _what the actual fuck_.

“Hello?” Harry jumps a little as he tears his eyes away from the door to his Regular who still stood at the counter, and Harry is probably the worst cashier to ever exist ever. In his defense, a pretty, literate, tattooed boy had just answered his riddle and _how the hell did he even see it-_

“Right, sorry mate.” Harry rings up the Marlboros as per usual, while the store and The Regular remain silent. And before he knows it, everything is back to normal, and Harry doesn’t know whether he misses the loudness and difference Louis had brought, or if the stillness and quiet of the store is all he needs. “Sorry about that by the way. A bit louder than usual huh?”

“Yeah. S’different,” The Regular responds, running his hand through his dark hair with an almost smile and _holy fuck Harry was finally conversing with the Regular, it had to count as socializing now, fucking suck it Niall-_

The door to the store opens once again and this is all a bit much for Harry, really. “Sorry Harry, Louis wanted me to tell you that your phone is on the counter and he didn’t steal it, he just glanced at it and he also just wanted me to see what you’re face looked like, he fucking loves being right and- oh hi.” It’s Liam. _Naturally_.

“It’s cool Liam. Tell Louis, _ok_ ,” Harry responds, as The Regular grabs his Marlboros and heads for the glass door, which Liam was blocking, unfortunately. He jumps as The Regular approaches, his right hand swiping quickly over his floppy brown hair.

“Oh, sorry, I’m an idiot. I’m also Liam. Hi.” Liam chuckles a bit and finally sounds less like a cougar and much more like the puppy he personified. Harry could pat him on the back, definitely.

“M’ Zayn.” And then with a quick side step, The Regular is out the door and back to his mysterious, smoke hazed, artistic, inked life, leaving Liam to follow his sunset haloed head until it disappeared from the fluorescent light all together. Harry coughs then and it’s entirely unintentional, but snaps Liam out of his apparent reverie with a flush.

“Right, ok. Um, see you Harry.” And then Liam is gone and Harry is alone and he had just learned _many_ interesting names.

 

**x**

“So I may have fallen in love and found out the secret identity of my Regular all in the expanse of one night. Incredible, really,” Harry announces from the floor of Ed’s apartment, as Ed himself sat busy on the ratty couch replacing the strings of his guitar. The rest of Harry’s week had passed without any incident; after bragging to Niall about his new found social skills, Harry’s shift had gone back to its normal (lifeless, boring, Louis-less) self.

“That’s great Harry. But also, fun fact, you actually don’t know the last names of _any_ of those people, so the vague chance of seeing any of them ever again is hugely thin so I would start writing the heartbroken poem for that Louis bloke already, as a head start,” Ed suggests noncommittally, his eyes concentrated on the newly attached strings on his guitar. “What do you think? Nick got them for cheap at the music shop on 4 th. Belle bit off my first E, the little bitch.”

“That’s a _possibility_ Edward. For all I know, Louis could come into the store Monday morning and we could make sweet love on the counter top,” Harry rolls onto his stomach as he reaches for Ed’s guitar and plucks at a few strings. “Don’t call your cat a bitch, it’s not even ironic. And they sound good. Do you want to write a love song for Louis and I now?” Harry grins up at the ginger as he reaches down on impulse to pet Harry’s burnt sienna curls.

Ed scoffs as he takes a contemplative sip of his slightly lukewarm beer, clearing his throat before beginning, “ _Oh sweet Louis, you definitely know your hyperboles. I’ve fallen for you and I cannot get up, you just make me want to play monopoly. I also want to make very unsanitary love on the counter top-oly. Oh Louis._ Guitar solo. Instant hit.” Harry laughs, as a loud car alarm goes off outside; a perfect background track, undoubtedly.

“I love it. Play a chord Ed.” Harry chugs the rest of his beer and soon begins to belt out, with Ed’s quiet harmonies coming through during the quick pauses of the car alarm. It’s a symphony: Harry’s loud rumbling voice and the car alarm in harmony, with Ed’s melodic addition in the interludes.

“ _Oh Louis, sweet Louis you definitely know your hyperboles. I’ve fallen for you and I cannot get up, you just make me want to play monopoly. You just make me want to play monopoly…”_

**x**

Louis is very much done with Liam’s crap at this point. He genuinely needs a new friend, it is actually critical.  “Seriously Liam. We cannot go back to the gas station at fucking three o clock in the morning. _It’s weird_.” He had just finished his final exam and had incredible plans to go out and get high and/or drunk, but Liam, apparently, has other ideas.

“Come on, Lou. You want to see that Harry bloke again, right?” Liam is a persistent fellow, Louis gives him that. He’s also pretty cute, behind his _swag- swag- smoking- jock- hell- yeah_ exterior. Louis rather misses Liam’s innocent, bright eyed freshmen days, sometimes. There was less persistence and more “ _shut up, Lou,”_ with a clearly hero-worshipping glance.

“Yes sure, he was fit and all that. But _you,_ Liam, just want to see that pretty boy with smokes. Which is fucking _unlikely.”_ Liam groans and Louis pats his hair apologetically.  “I don’t see why you like him so much. He literally said three words to you. And you said like, ten thousand.”

“I _know_ Louis; I sounded like a fucking nut case. That’s why I need to see him again, right? Also, you quite liked Harry, and not just because you wanted to bang him, ok?” Liam gives Louis a stern glare, and after a rather pitiful staring match, Louis groans because he’s _whipped_. Or, he just wants to see the smiling boy who did riddles and smiled a lot again. Maybe.

“ _Fine_. I hate you. Also, we’re getting there earlier this time. If _Zayn_ doesn’t show up in ten minutes, we’re going to the party at Andy’s, and that’s that.” Liam beams, and Louis may have patted himself on the back for being such a good person.

“Love you, Lou.”

“Fuck you too.”

 

**x**

 

“I think it’s too early. It was three the last time we came. They could be on a _schedule_ ,” Liam mutters, nervously running his hands through his hair, while also making a dreadful mess of the skilled styling job Louis had done of it hours ago, thank you.

Louis scoffs, “Well excuse me for not knowing the intricate time tables of gas station employees and customers, _Liam_. Now come _on_.” With one final sigh, the two make their way into the fluorescently lit convenience store, where, instead of smiling, curly haired Harry sat a smiling, bleached blond bloke. Louis silently pats himself on the back. _Alliteration_. Bad alliteration, but _alliteration_.

“It’s not Harry, let’s leave, yeah?”

“We can’t just _leave_ , we walked in. We have to buy something or it’d be suspicious.”

“ _Liam_.”

“ _Louis_.”

“Fuck, fine.” Louis hates being whipped, really. The blond bloke glances up as the door of the shop jingles, before glancing back down at his phone; a model employee, Louis infers.

“What do we buy? I don’t need anything,” Liam whispers, and Louis groans as they make their way up and down the aisles. It’s much too bright for two in the morning; Louis might actually need sunglasses to shield his sensitive eyes from the fluorescent light reflecting off the aisles and aisles of plastic wrapped artery cloggers. But it’s also quiet, curiously so, and Louis can almost hear himself think despite Liam tripping over a stray box and cursing obnoxiously beside him.

“I don’t fucking know, do I? We were here less than a week ago,” Louis whispers back as they make a round of the store, and if Louis was the blond boy he would _definitely_ be suspicious by now, oh yeah.  But apparently, the blond isn’t as into his work as Harry had been, so he just continues to stare down at his screen, evidently ignoring his only two customers.

“Erm, excuse me? Hi,” Louis calls out suddenly, because it was almost their third round of the store and contrary to Liam’s love struck mind, Louis actually has a life, _ok_.

“Hey. Need anything?” the blond calls back, his eyes still down on his phone. Liam groans lowly as Louis elbows him with a glare that clearly said ‘ _fucking say something you shit, before the JT posters in your closet (oh yeah- I know) get ripped up by my convenient paper shredder, you shit.’_ Louis has a kindred soul, he does.

“Yeah, um, we were here the other day and there was another employee here. Harry?” At this, the blond perks up, grinning over at the two. He’s quite fit, Louis thinks initially. His eyes are blue and his roots are dark and his smile is explosive. It was as if this boy with artificially blond hair was meant to smile all day, and if he wasn’t smiling, it was _your_ responsibility to make him smile or else it would be a disaster, a tragedy, a _cataclysm_.  Louis sometimes thinks back to his stepfather’s words about how ‘ _a_ _fucking English degree isn’t going to get your life anywhere ever, boy’_ , and agrees. _Sometimes_. All the time.

“ _Right_. I thought Harry was lying about you. I mean that boy doesn’t socialize a lot, so when he said he actually talked to some people on his shift the other night, I obviously though he was lying but- hey! I’m Niall.” The boy swings over the counter and sticks out his hand with a grin. He’s _Irish_. Louis already likes him.

“Hey, I’m Louis and that’s Liam and he has stalkerish motives. Any idea when Harry’s getting here?” Louis is blunt and to the point and Niall laughs loudly, causing him to grin in surprise. People who laugh at his poorly aimed jokes are definitely his favourite people.

“Right, Harry told me. You want to bang his regular, right?” Niall winks at Liam, and Louis imagines that the boy was probably throwing himself off a cliff in his mind. This was _great_. “And yeah, Harry’s shift starts in like five minutes. You guys can chill here until he gets here. Oh yeah, and pass me a candy bar? You guys can grab a few too, it’ll drive Harry crazy.”

Louis grins again and decides to fall in love with Niall instead, yes, Niall is very nice. And despite his sudden attraction to curly hair and wide eyes and slow drawl, Louis is certain he could settle with a nice bleach blond Irish bloke who laughs at his jokes. Yeah, screw Harry.

As the three continue to munch on their stolen (‘ _but not really stolen, I have employee perks guys’)_ candy bars, the door to the store swings open with a little tinkle. Louis glances back and is met with a face full of curly hair and flushed cheeks and surprised eyes and _yes,_ he most _definitely_ wants to screw Harry.

**x**

Harry is maybe a little confused as he regards the two nervous boys in front of him. “Right, so you guys decided to come visit a _Quick Stop!_ at two o clock in the morning for the second time in like, a week, because you wanted to learn the name of my riddle app? Ok.” Harry glances up at Liam and Louis from behind the counter, as the two in question shrug their shoulders and look adequately uncomfortable.

“Yes, Harry, actually. Do you have a problem with that? Do you have a problem with us giving you business? Because from what I know, a bloody _Quick Stop!_ isn’t the place to be most nights at two o clock, _ok._ ” Louis leans forward onto the counter and blinks a few times, desperately hoping that his magical baby blues would magically (as the name suggests) get Harry to believe their flaky excuse. And they do, of course, because Harry is terribly fond of Louis _and_ his magical baby blues, not that Louis is even faintly aware.

Harry, firstly, decides to ignore the fact that Liam is currently looking around furtively like a teenager who lost his mom at the grocery store, and  that Louis might actually look even better with his hair coiffed up in a spiky up do.“Ok. It’s called _Riddle Me_ , I think. I downloaded it when I was a bit drunk with my mates and then, I don’t know, I just got hooked. It’s pretty good, like do you know what you can catch but not throw? A _cold._ Isn’t that funny guys? Also…” Harry drawls on and is maybe a bit _too_ enthusiastic about a riddle game with lame riddles, but Louis had stopped paying attention at ‘ _Ok’_ and had just proceeded to stare at Harry’s mouth move slowly and roughly and that _wasn’t_ creepy, it _wasn’t_. Harry’s lips were just _unnaturally_ (beautifully) red, like the roses Louis’ mum used to grow in the spring. They contrasted nicely with his fair skin and dark hair and pale, tired eyes, like a painting, almost, a painting that was unnaturally realistic, with blemishes and blurry lines that only added to its natural but _stunning_ beauty. Harry looked like he belonged in a fairy tale, and Louis _knew_ fairytales, he had just analyzed one days ago during his exam. The perks of being an English major mystify Louis to this day.

However, Harry’s _riveting_ speech is interrupted by a small clearing of the throat courtesy of Liam, and Louis could curse him, he could.

“ _Yes_ , Liam? Why did you feel the need to interrupt Harry’s very interesting monologue about colds?” Louis glances nastily up at Liam and at his meaningful glance, remembers the actual reason the two had come to the gas station in the first place. After Harry had arrived and Niall left with pats to both of their backs, Louis had conveniently forgotten why he had skipped out on his party in the first place; but in his defense, a nice curly headed boy was talking and Louis wasn’t going to interrupt, he was raised _right_.

“Right Harry, we’re actually here on important business. You know the tanned, dark haired mysterious bloke who was here last time?” Harry nods with apt attention, and Louis could probably _die_ , Harry ‘he still didn’t know his last name’ was an absolute _lamb_. “Yes, Liam has fallen adequately in love with him, it seems, so as his wingman, it is my duty to get all information on him whatsoever. So, talk. And also, what’s your last name?”

Harry laughs, and Louis thinks he looks rather like a lion then, his hair a mane and his laugh a roar; Harry was a conundrum, it seemed, for he was a lamb and a lion at the same time, and that shouldn’t be possible but it _was_. “Styles. And also I don’t know anything about him, except that he comes once or twice every few weeks and buys the same pack of Marlboros. That’s all, sorry.”

Liam sighs and glances out the dark window panes, as if his dark brooding stranger would just appear out of the darkness and make out with him under the light of the fluorescent gas station. “It’s ok, Harry, it was a long shot. Come on Lou.” Liam looks rather like a kicked puppy in a snapback then, and Louis may have felt like the worst wingman ever.

“ _Ok_ Liam, I’m going to do you a favor, because I’m the best wingman ever. I swear, right now, that I’ll come here, to this very gas station, every night of the week and wait for your tall dark stranger. It’s a sacrifice that I’ll make for you, pal.” And if Louis got the chance to spend some more time with the grinning boy behind the counter, then it’s just a very well timed coincidence.

 

**x**

 

“You’d do that Lou? Thank you.” Liam looks so sincerely grateful that Harry almost wants to pat his head and give him cookies. But, of course he wouldn’t, for when he walked in for his shift that morning, Niall had already given the two their fare share of un-paid for goods, and even though Harry is rather fond of Liam and Louis in his dark shirt and leather jacket, he is an _employee_ and giving out free food is against his _code_. And there _was_ a code, Harry had Googled it.

“You don’t think you’ll mind my charming company for the next few nights, Harry Styles?” Louis grins, looking overjoyed at finally using his full name. And Harry considers this seriously, he does. His shift at _Quick Stop!_ had become a haven for him of sorts; five hours spent in silence, completely alone usually. And despite the suffocation and _loneliness_ that Harry never allowed himself to admit that he felt, his shift was his space and his time and his area away from bustle and loud noises and life and troubles and sleep. But oddly enough, sharing the space with Louis, who is loud and radiant and practically _exudes_ trouble, doesn’t seem that horribly terrifying.

“Not at all Louis, believe it or not the graveyard shift isn’t as exciting as many perceive it to be,” Harry says sagely, as Louis laughs and shakes his head across the counter.

“I’m quite sure my presence will both lighten up this horrid place and attract many dark brooding strangers.”  Louis grins, winking at Liam, who just rolls his eyes and glances down at his watch.

“ _Shit_ Lou, we have to go or Andy’ll be done with us. And Harry would you make sure Louis’s actually going to text me when Zayn shows up? He isn’t always trustworthy,” Harry laughs again, a big roaring laugh that makes Louis just a little bit less offended at Liam’s remark. _He was actually willing to deface himself for this boy what the actual fuck-_

Louis rolls his eyes, “Contrary to your belief, Liam, you actually are not the Batman so there’s no way that you’ll make it here _right_ when I, trustworthy as I am, text you. _Unless_ Zayn walks into the store one lonely Thursday night, and ever loyal Harry, the Commissioner, gives you a call straight away to your odd red phone. There, our lovely butler Niall, aka Alfred who lives with us now because I’m in love with him, will answer and give you a call Mr. Payne. _Wayne_. Oh my God. Anyways, then I will swing by your side as your trusty sidekick Robin, because Dick Grayson is hot. Then we’ll ride down here in your batmobile aka the ’96 Honda and I’ll give you one of Dick’s hilarious catchphrases, because face it, I’ll make it work. _Then_ , we’ll make it here right as mysterious stranger Zayn exits the shop with Marlboros in hand, which he promptly drops as Liam appears to him out of the shadows, as I whisper a well placed ‘ _gee-whiz’_. Then you two make out whilst I go inside and woo Harry who is no longer the Commissioner, but rather the lovely damsel in distress who was born on the wrong side of the tracks and got with the bad crowd. The end. Now hurry up Liam, we’ll be late.” With that, Louis waves quickly and is out of the store in a flash and Harry just _stares._ He doesn’t even need to come up with a back-story for this man; he’s a story all on his own.

“Does he do that a lot?” Harry asks, as Liam smirks and goes to follow with a wave of his own.

“Too often, English majors you know. Make a story out of everything. Anyways, see you Harry and thanks again.” And then Harry is alone once more in the fluorescent little convenience store, thoughts on a tattooed boy who told stories and was by the definition, _radiant_.

 

**x**

“Louis’ journal, Day One, hour one. The minutes are passing slowly, and the boredom is edging closer. The lion haired boy is working and not as interesting as I perceived him to be, once upon a time. My thoughts stray to leaving this mission, but the thought of abandoning Liam, alone and stranger-less, fills me with enough guilt to pioneer through in this drab and desolate convenience store,” Louis finishes his dreary monologue with a groan, as Harry glances up from where he was painstakingly refilling the cigarette racks.

“Did you _have_ to watch Star Trek before you got here Louis? Did you _really_?” Harry smirks as Louis groans once more and leaps off the counter top. “And I _have_ to work, this is my job. Where I work.”

“Yes that’s all well and good Harry, but a warning would have been nice. This is dreadfully dull, if you hadn’t noticed.” Louis slides to the floor beside Harry with a sigh, his eyes pitiful and sad. And while Harry does enjoy Louis’ eyes in their usual dancing form, his sad eyes are nice too; blue like sea spray and clouded like fog over the ocean.

“I’m sorry Louis,” Harry offers, sliding down beside Louis. And he _was_ sorry; the graveyard shift wasn’t for everyone, definitely not for someone who shone bright, and couldn’t possibly be stuffed in an artificially lit box for four hours. Then, Louis surprises him.

“It’s alright, Harry. I could do with some peace and quiet.” Louis smiles then, and bumps his shoulder against Harry’s with assurance. And it should have been strange, really, for Harry and Louis barely knew each other two days, yet they were _comfortable_ , comfortable enough to bump shoulders (and that was a very high degree of comfortable; shoulder bumping is reserved for _friends_.)

“And why do you need peace and quiet?” Harry stares at his tapping toes hidden underneath the frayed soles of his boots as Louis sits silent for a while. It’s peculiar, Harry thinks, for Louis hasn’t been silent for more than two minutes since Harry had met him. His shoes continue to tap, steadily, as Louis sits silent, the constant buzzing of the store suddenly incredibly loud, as if impatiently awaiting his answer.

Finally, the buzzing is subdued as Louis clears his throat with a chuckle. Harry stops tapping. “Well you see Harry, the world is _loud_. I’m sure you know this, you’ve been outside at least once in your life I’m guessing?” Louis glances over at Harry for assurance and Harry nods with a wry smile. “Good, otherwise I’d say that’s frightening and possibly throw holy water and garlic on you.”

“We don’t sell holy water _or_ garlic actually-”

“Hush now. You can’t ask me such a deep seated question without expecting a wordy and unnecessary answer in response, ok?” Louis thunders on and Harry grins. This boy is a _novel_ in himself. “Everything is loud, right? You go outside and the city bustles and it’s alive and wonderful, and then you go to a party and the utter _drunkenness_ is loud and then you go to sleep and even the _silence_ is all consuming and it’s just-” Louis sighs as he cuts off his own loud rambling with an agitated fist to his thigh before continuing, “So, surprising as it is, finding Liam’s soul mate and hanging out with a pretty boy isn’t the only reason I’m here. A gas station at three in the morning seemed like a good place to be quiet for a while.” Louis shuts his eyes then, leaning his head back onto the window panes, as if challenging Harry to say something, anything, _everything_.

“Ok.” Harry smiles softly as he sees the edges of Louis’ lips tilt up, his eyes still closed. “But don’t go to sleep. Dreams can be quite loud too, I’ve heard.”

This time, Harry earns a laugh from Louis as he snaps back up, his eyes alight again. Louis had transformed before Harry’s very eyes and he _loved_ it. He was seeing someone, every part of someone. The grinning, joking side, the calmer, subtly sad side. Louis was like one of those paintings; he was a work of art split into two parts. One side loud with shouting streaks of oranges and reds, and the other calm and blue and misting, but blurred in the middle, combining the two so they become one; one whole painting, and one whole person.

“Right you are, Styles. So put me to work. Show me the ropes. What are the best hangouts at _Quick Stop!_ at three in the morning?” Louis grins as he leaps up, Harry following, long limbed and floppy.

“I’ve heard the dairy fridges are a blast. And they also need restocking.”

 

**x**

“God, I think I broke the register.”

“It’s ok.”

Harry pokes his head out from the storage room while Louis exclaims in frustration from his perch behind the counter. “Harry, you’ve got to be more assertive. Like, ‘Fuck you Louis, you broke the fucking register get the fuck out you asshole!’ _That’s_ assertive. Go on.”

“Did you even actually break the register? Because I can fix it if you did. It’s ok. You can tell me.” Harry walks back to the counter with the box of gingerale he’s supposed to be refilling, as Louis backs away with a hiss.

“If you’re coming here to give me an understanding pat on the back, I _swear_ -” He’s interrupted, of course, by Harry’s understanding pat on the back. And it doesn’t at all feel good, it _doesn’t_.

The two had developed a fairly sophisticated schedule the past two days, which involved Harry arriving at the gas station at a prompt two o clock only to find Louis already present, giggling with Niall, (“ _I’m in love with him Harry, sorry to break it to you like this”)_. The rest of the night is spent quietly, (or as quiet as Louis can possibly afford to be), and at a dim 5:30, Louis resigns and returns home yawning and waving excessively.

It’s not perfect. It’s occasionally awkward since the two are really _strangers_ by definition, but it’s ok because Louis keeps coming and Harry’s always there.

-

“Do you know what the bane of my existence is Harry? E-Books. Those goddamned bastards.” It’s 2:40 and Harry notices that Louis rambles. A lot. As if he’s been suppressing words, so many _words_ that are now all struggling to come out in the apparently shielded and hidden gas station. And they are shielded, really; there is no avid debater about to pop through the door and contradict Louis’ rambles about the state of the world, nor is there a stray E-Book supporter present to walk awkwardly past and interject about their utter _convenience_ and _environmental consciousness._ There’s only Harry, with his open mind and low chuckle and fondness for Louis’ passionate voice. It works.

“They’re horrible, are they not? It’s like, you go anywhere and there’s always that _one_ pretentious person holding a fucking Kindle like they’re so ahead of the times,” Louis groans and he’s genuinely upset, it’s _adorable_. Harry wants to pat his head and soothe but that would be _weird_ so he settles for watching and smiling and adoring.  “Like, get a fucking book you prick. And I don’t _care_ that they’re so fucking _convenient_ and have no _sun glare_ and _you should really get one man!_ because no, I will most definitely not get an overpriced _iPad_ to read books when books actually fucking exist.” He finishes with a glare at Harry, as if suspecting that Harry was hiding his own secret stash of Kindle E-Readers behind the potato chip rack.

“I like books. They smell nicer than E-Readers, most of the time.” Harry shrugs and Louis nods approvingly. It’s how it goes; Louis rambles and Harry agrees and no one interrupts because they’re hidden, they _are_ , by fluorescent lighting and humming fridges and a slightly broken cash register.

**x**

It’s their second night when Harry realizes that _melancholy_ is not only a feeling but also, an actual physical presence that can drip from every corner of a room. They were draped completely, him and Louis, in a melancholy silence only broken by Harry answering a particularly difficult riddle question for Louis and him sending quiet thanks in response. There’s no mind-blowing reason for their utter melancholy-ness that particular day, but Louis had walked in with an announcement that he’d finished a rather good book and the more prominent bags under Harry’s eyes had made him pensive and the steady drip of stray raindrops in the hush of the night just brought forth an utter sense of _melancholy_ that was neither terribly exciting nor terrifying.

“You know Harry, I could write a story about you. It would suck, but at least it would be other people looking for my subtle insinuations about the true nature of your character instead of me.” It’s 4 o clock and they’re sitting on the floor again, trying to drown out the whirring Louis now notices too.

“Do you even like uni, Lou?” Harry asks lightly, failing to ignore the light bitterness that laced Louis’ voice. And it’s strange that they can talk so openly like this, but it’s also kind of wonderful. They view the gas station almost as a safety net; none of the secrets they whisper in the fluorescent light escape, they won’t be twisted and turned and made painful by reality. It seems they’re the only beings alive at the hour, the rest of the world asleep and oblivious to their whispers.

Louis sighs and rests his head lightly against the counter. “You ask such hard questions Harry.”

“It’s not my fault you word your answers so eloquently. A man must hear well phrased eloquence at least once a day, it’s actually a need.”  

Louis chuckles, and then after a deep breath he’s off; spewing out every tidbit of thought that had ever crossed his mind to Harry, who listened. No matter what nonsense and frustration and unsolvable opinions Louis had on the social dilemma, Harry listened. And no matter how awkward Harry’s occasional additions about cats or sex or weather were, Louis listened too, and it _worked_. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s the teenage dream, right? Parties and sex and alcohol. Yeah.” Louis sighs at Harry’s indignant glance, and continues after a blowing out a string of air. “ _Fine_ I’ll give you some fucking eloquence.”

The air is still in the store as Louis begins; the clock ticks and the air conditioner coughs and a stray breeze from the propped open window in the corner (‘ _this is like a coffin, open up a fucking window’)_ whispers as it flickers through the plastic wrapped products littering the aisles.“The other month actually, we were given an assignment to write a short story about something in the point of view of a soldier, or a homeless man, or a child being trafficked in the Middle East. Like, they genuinely expected us to write about all these atrocities as if they were stories, stories that we could read and edit and critique in class with red pen underlining run on sentences and lack of theme. Like it wasn’t happening, like these were just _stories_. They want us to be aware of all this shit, yeah? Homelessness is a thing, war is a thing, human trafficking is a _thing_ but never _fucking_ mind that you haven’t experienced it, write about it as if you have.” Harry glances up as the lights flicker momentarily and Louis clutches his fists tighter. “I’ve never been poor, I’ve always had food to eat and a home to go to and a family to get mad at and I still sympathize with those people across the world that experiences this utter shit every single day. But it’s just sympathy isn’t it? We all sympathize and throw money at organizations and quote Gandhi and strive for change but, really? We’re loaded up in our own lives, wrapped up in pop culture and succeeding in life and pleasing parents and falling in love and it’s all so _small_. And uni, I don’t know, just seems to set the path for that. I-” But he’s interrupted as the bell on the front door tinkles and a girl in a hoodie walks in. Harry might be imagining the look of disappointment and frustration etched across Louis’ face as he continues to lean up against the counter, clearly disregarding the girl’s strange glance, but he’s definitely not imagining the amazed look on his own as he checks out the girl’s energy drink. This boy, man, _person_ was amazing and opinioned and strong and _amazing_ and it stunned him.

Harry practically falls down onto the floor beside Louis after the girl leaves, the yearning to hear his voice express his frustrations and opinions and thoughts unyielding. “Continue, will you?”

Louis glances at Harry with a small smirk then, though his eyes seem to hold something, something almost close to curiosity and thankfulness. “Eager, are you?” He rolls his eyes at Harry’s sharp nod and smiling eyes and after a sigh, continues. Louis was a novel and Harry planned to read every word on every page of him faithfully.

“Where was I? Uni, right? Right, so it sets the path for you kind of. In two years I’ll get my useless degree that the fucking bigwigs will scoff at when I give them my resume. I’ll get a job I fucking hate and then live trying to please people, and there’ll be no change in the world will there?  It’s the eternal thing right? No matter what bullshit they throw at you saying to follow your dreams and all that, you _can’t_ and you can’t complain, it’s how it is and some things you can’t fucking change with some protests and petitions. And I’ll live with it right, I won’t be bitter about this eternal life-set-out-right-in-front-of-you crap everyone thinks about at some point, but it sucks. So yeah, I guess right now I’d rather just fuck around instead of reading between the lines of some beautiful classic literature that’s still _useless_ and it’s not to fucking punish my parents or to protest against the ‘man’.  And all this _literature_ they throw at us, it’s filled with all these ideas and solutions and change, but nothing ever happens. Ever. It’s a fucking cycle, Harry. And I don’t think writing poetry or doing yoga or falling in love is ever going to change my perspective on that.” Louis finishes with a deep breath, like a teapot that finally let out its steam after being held in for much too long and it’s _perfect_. “God, did I even answer your fucking question? No I don’t like university.” He groans then, melodramatically kicking the rack of postcards with a huff. “I sound like a kid from the Breakfast Club don’t I? Fuck, they shove too much Rousseau into us, it’s not healthy. _And_ I’ve told you Harry, once I start sounding like an American teenager in detention you _have_ to tell me to shut up-” Louis finally does shut up then, as Harry nudges hit foot quickly with his with an almost admiring smile.

“I get it. Rousseau’s quite prominent in Sociology too. And so’s the Breakfast Club, curiously. American teens really know what’s up. Well Rousseau’s not an American teen. But still.”

 Louis chuckles lightly, his previously coiled up muscles releasing. “Of course, those damn Americans, getting all these ideas about the social condition in our innocent little Brit heads. What’s with this place, anyway?” Louis looks up suspiciously as Harry chuckles, rumbling from deep within his chest. “I’ve never exploded out my thoughts like that before, and I wasn’t ever planning on it. I’ve a feeling that this, what is it, Quick Stop? Yes, I’m fairly certain this _Quick Stop!_ is cursed or something, I’m so sorry Harry.”

They’re silent for moments, regarding the store which suddenly almost seems alive around them. Timelessly lit and whirring, it’s comforting, almost. The window panes reveal almost eternal darkness as usual, except for the faint glow of the obnoxiously neon sign outside. The dairy fridges click and the abandoned gingerale box gleams and the _Caution: Wet Surface_ board that’s never really used (Niall isn’t a _mopper_ ) leans idly against the storage room door. It’s piercingly calm, and surprisingly enough, the silence (though not complete silence of course; their intertwined breaths drown out the whirring) isn’t suffocating for Harry.

And it _is_ silent, until he leans quickly to Louis’ ear and whispers a hushed, “ _Don’t you forget about me.”_ And Harry doesn’t have any satisfaction at all when Louis flinches and maybe yelps rather masculinely.

“F-Fucking fuck _you_.”

 

**x**

The box of receipt refills is empty. As are the three receipt refill holsters in the gas station’s three gas pumps, the backup container under the sink beneath the Slushies, and the beaten up cardboard box stuffed into the corner of the storage room. All empty, just as Harry’s apartment will be when he sells all his furniture to feed himself after he gets fired.

“Ok sir, so the total for your gas this morning is 32.08. I’m really very sorry, but all of our receipt machines seem to be malfunctioning for some reason.” Harry hands over his third hand written receipt of the night with a wry chuckle, while the man who stumbled in demanding proof of payment takes it with a grunt and disappears back into the darkness outside.

“Harry, I’m actually fairly certain that writing out hand written receipts isn’t in your job description.” Louis yawns from his position cross legged on the floor. He’s wearing glasses today, nice simple black framed glasses that make him look nice and smart and very English Major-y. And Harry didn’t at all acknowledge how cute and sexy and _smart_ and _sexy_ and _hot_ he looked when he first walked in, not at all. He was just the same ( _beautiful, fascinating, radiant_ ) Louis that he always was. Just with sexy glasses. He had been sprawled on the floor since Harry had arrived, his nose (from which perched these endearing spectacles) driven into the book Harry had brought for him the day before.

“I love Bradbury. The Illustrated Man was always my favourite collection of his.” Louis stretches his arms above his head, before dropping the book in front of Harry with a smile. “Thanks for letting me borrow it Harry. I genuinely thought your taste in books would range from Poe to like, ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’.”

Harry grins as he sticks the well-read paperback into the now empty receipt refill bin. “I would be offended but Handler is great. Morbid, but great.” Harry frowns then, as he glances quickly at his frayed watch. “It’s already 4 Lou; I don’t actually think Zayn’s coming today.”

Louis hums as he contemplates this, biting into an apple and causing Harry to glare rather pointedly at him. “ _God_ , relax Harry I brought this from home. Mother Liam packed me a snack today, bless him. I thought it was weed but it turned out to be an apple. Like why the _hell_ would you put an apple in a brown paper bag?” Louis chuckles as Harry attempts to cover his loud laughter with his hand. “So, I guess I’ll just get going then, huh? One of Andy’s parties might still be going on, I can probably make it.”

Harry’s surprised when something flairs up in his chest then. It’s desperate almost, desperately clawing at his chest as he watches Louis finish his apple and begin to stick his wallet and phone back in his pockets. “I-uh, Lou wait.”

Louis’ confused, it’s apparent. Harry’s never done this before, never stopped Louis from leaving the past few days but now. He doesn’t want to see him go, and this _feeling;_ it’s scary but also kind of amazing.

“I, um, want to show you something. Only if you want to, I mean.” It’s horrible, he’s tripping over his words and flushing and Louis notices; it’s apparent from the smirk on his face. Harry could absolutely _die_. This was the kind of scenario that occurred in the strange Japanese manga that his pal Michael had shown him; only those had all ended in vividly detailed drawings of sex. Not that he’d particularly _mind_ if his and Louis’ scenario ended similarly, but still.

“That depends on what it is, doesn’t it Harry?” And Louis’ smirk widens as Harry continues to fidget nervously with the hems of his company shirt. “Tick tock now, I’m missing a hell of a party. People are probably naked.”

And that’s _it_ , Harry will definitely not be the _uke_ of this scenario, and he proves this as he walks quickly to Louis and grabs his hand, dragging him rather effortlessly across the store. “Well then come on, I’ll be quick.”

Now it’s Louis who’s flushing and Harry doesn’t clap himself on the back at this, he doesn’t. “W-what the _hell_ Harry, where are we going? What are you going to be quick about? You understand how suggestive this sounds right? I mean, everyone’s noticed the raging sexual tension between us but-” But Harry had already stopped listening as they approached the storage room doors near the back of the store; adrenaline pumping in his veins. He had only done this once with Niall before, on his first day on the job and it was magical, though he’s never been brave enough to do it again.

“Get out the flashlight in your phone, will you? It’s going to be kind of dark in here in a second.” Harry rubs his free hand across the wall of the storage room until he finds it, Louis continuing to the stutter pointlessly behind him. The latch hasn’t been used in a while, its apparent, but with some force Harry pulls it open, revealing the many switches and dials inside.

“What the hell are we doing Harry-”

“It’s not illegal Lou. I just _might_ get fired, but it’ll be worth it I swear.” Harry concentrates on the switches in front of him, trying hard to remember what Niall had done all those months ago. “Besides, I’m already on thin ice because of the receipts. I’ll go out with a bang- _Aha!”_ And then it’s dark.

So incredibly, stiflingly dark, it’s as if all the air has been squeezed out of the room leaving only utter, perpetual gloom. It’s silent too, not even the dairy fridges click obnoxiously. The eternal fluorescent lights of the gas station were empty, and even the obnoxiously neon sign outside didn’t emit its constant glow. It seemed like all the power of the world has gone out, leaving everything empty and vacant and gone. That is, until Louis whispers a quick ‘ _Shit_!’ and a feeble beam of light illuminates the grinning visage of one Mr. Harry Styles. “What the _utter fuck_ are you doing, Harry?”

“Just trust me ok? It’ll be great. We just have to be quick or else the milk will go bad, I think,” Harry whispers back, illuminating his own flashlight. And it doesn’t make sense that they’re whispering; it’s as if they’re children playing a daring game of hide and seek in the shadows, though neither had any idea exactly whom they were hiding from. But they _have_ to; the darkness is so heavy it’s as if the only sounds that they could possibly release are hushed whispers.

“Come on, this way.” Harry reaches for Louis’ hand again, and this time he meets him half way. “No one really uses these stairs except for workers. Actually, most people don’t even know we _have_ a roof. Shine your light to the floor, yeah?” Then they’re stumbling through the heavy gloom of the storage room, hands intertwined, until Harry stops abruptly.

 “Right, here’s the ladder. Shine the light upwards, will you? I’ll climb up and open the hatch and you follow, ok?”

“ _Fuck_ , Harry. Are you actually the psychotic gas station employee who leads people to their deaths? Has this been the plan all along? I’m actually wounded.” Harry squeezes his hand in response, his mind obviously elsewhere, and curiously enough, that’s all Louis needs to shut up. “Ok, fine.”

Then Harry’s climbing up the ladder that Louis has _never_ actually noticed before, and with a loud _crack_ , a whoosh of cold air penetrates the storage room. “Yes! Ok, come on up Lou. The weather’s amazing.”

Louis could think of hundreds of reasons _not_ to ‘come on up’, but frighteningly enough, the presence of the curly haired man grinning above was the only reason that mattered.

“I’m _coming_ Harry, don’t be pushy.” At the final step, Harry’s hand reaches down to pull him up and it’s incredible.

“This is incredible.”

The roof of the building is nothing special; just dark shapes occasionally illuminated by Louis’ shaking flashlight beam. But the stars; the stars are amazing. Louis understands, suddenly, the reason for Harry to throw the gas station into an overbearing gloom. It was so they could see them. There aren’t many; Louis’ seen many more at his Grandfather’s house out in the countryside of Doncaster, but this is _special_. They’re in the city, and the only possible excuse at seeing lights in the sky would be a helicopter, or the twinkling lights of a lone airplane. But _this_ , this is real. Actual stars, not hidden by the ever present light pollution. It’s magical, practically. Just silence and dim car alarm in the distance and a world of lights illuminating the usually perpetual darkness above. The moon isn’t out either; only its faint outline reminding them of its ethereal presence.

“I know. Niall showed it to me a while back, when I first joined. See, the street lights are always off on this street and the gas station is literally one of the brightest things for a few kilometers. It’s not much, but. Yeah.” Harry chuckles nervously, but he’s ecstatic. Seeing the stars like this has always been magical to him; but being here with Louis (who was still, curiously, clutching his hand) made it shine. Literally. His flashlight was still on.

“This is kind of cheesy, you know,” Louis states bluntly as he plops down onto the dark floor of the roof, pulling Harry down with him. “Showing me your ‘special place’. Letting me into the place where you’ve never let anyone come before. I’m slowly opening up your heart, so you can learn to love again. This is genuinely in every romantic novel, TV series, movie or play ever written.”

Harry throws back his head and laughs; the loudest noise in the constant silence around them. “Well then, I must apologize. At least I didn’t bring a blanket for us to cuddle into as we see the sun come up over the mountains.”

“You mean skyscrapers and shitty apartment buildings right?”

“Right. Until we see the sun come up over the skyscrapers and shitty apartment buildings. So much more romantic.”

Then they’re laughing and laying back on the hard roof of the building and it’s wonderful, the silence that surrounds them is _wonderful_. The utter and complete darkness that would have previously made Harry somber and melancholy as he tried his hardest not to let it swallow him into slumber was now beautiful; or rather _made_ beautiful by the shining presence next to him.

“That’s Orion’s Belt, I think. And I think that’s Sirius. And _don’t_ say ‘rest in peace, my dear godfather’, Harry, or I will exorcise you,” Louis says pointedly, dropping his previously pointing hand rather huffily back onto Harry’s own upturned one.

Harry chuckles as he squeezes Louis’ hand, so warm and real in this world where nothing seemed to exist but dark matter and dead stars. “I wasn’t about to. But really, Lou, there’s no need for you to be so _Sirius_. Ba dum tss.” He groans out a “ _but that was a good one_!” as Louis quickly extracts his fingers from Harry’s to smack his rumbling chest with it.

“Shut up now, Harry. Don’t ruin the mood.” Louis sighs and Harry can tell he’s closed his eyes and so he does the same; with no resistance, curiously. If the glowing boy next to him made even the barest appearance in his gray slumber, then sleep wasn’t such an unwelcome concept.  “I love space, did you know? It’s so vast and unwritten and it’s one thing that humans can’t consider themselves the centre of. And it’s filled with dead things that continue to show off their beauty years after they die.” Louis breathes out a sigh of contentment, nudging Harry’s side with his shoulder. “Stars are great, Harry we should all become stars. You could be a bright yellow one and I could be a blue one and after we explode into nothingness people could still admire our beauty while we roam an unwritten land as star dust. _Stardust_ Harry.”

Harry hums in agreement as they peeter off into silence, eyes closed and chests warm. This companionship they’ve found, this curious but so necessary companionship, Harry can’t even begin to explain. All he knows is that Louis is warm and loud and has thoughts that stretch to the outskirts of every galaxy and falling asleep to dream about the curve of his chin and light of his laugh and the seas in his eyes would be so welcome.

Suddenly, their sleepy tranquility is interrupted as Louis sits up on his elbows with a clearing of his throat. “Harry Edgar Styles-”

“It’s Edward actually, I’m rather posh”

“Harry _Edward_ Styles, I want to know your story. And what better place to tell it than on the roof of a _Quick Stop!_ at five in the morning, with such illuminating company. I’m so tired of hearing myself drag on and on about stardust and the eternal social situation. I want to hear your rocky little voice for a while, pal.” He ends with a wink of finality that Harry only catches behind his dark frames due to their proximity, as he sighs and glances up at him with one eye open. He was afraid of this, really. He was content to listen to Louis ramble on and on about stardust and the eternal social situation for the rest of eternity, but he should have known that he’d have to creak open his mouth at one point or another.

“Must I? I don’t even know how to start,” Harry groans reluctantly, but at the look of slight hurt and surprise in Louis’ eyes he feels slight guilt prickle him. It’s true; he’d kept much of his life silent while Louis rambled on and on and it would be stupid to think that Louis didn’t have even a smidgeon of curiosity at Harry’s gray, story-less life.

“Come on now, H, you know me to my soul and back and all I know about you is that you had a cat and like rain. That’s barely enough to sign up for an online dating site,” Louis chuckles teasingly, but behind it Harry can hear the slight shreds of disappointment, as if he thought Harry didn’t trust him enough to bare his soul to him. It’s this that makes Harry heave a great breath of preparedness before beginning; he reminds himself quickly that only the stars and Louis are here to listen, a billion of those witnesses presently dead.

He starts, enjoying the way Louis probes his face with expectance, as if he’d been awaiting this all along, “Alright. What would you like to know, E-Harmony?” Harry smiles wryly as Louis elbows his shoulder with a huff, as he leans slowly back onto the hard floor of the roof, eyes closed.

-

“Closing your eyes won’t make it any better Harry. It’s still there. It’ll always be there,” his mum used to whisper to him soothingly from the plastic chair next to his hospital bed; completely ignorant to the fact that Harry shut his lids even tighter then.

-

He hears Louis chuckle slightly, before a shift of fabric as Louis slides down closer to him, warmth permeating his tense, chilled skin. “How about you tell me about why you decided to pursue a career in the graveyard gas station convenience store industry. That would be quite a story.”

Harry smiles sardonically at the irony; if only Louis knew the only reason he took to job was to _find_ a story. “Well, I was broke, there was an incident, and Niall was forced to find me some method of payment. After he failed to get me associated with the local drug ring, I ended up here.” It’s not a complete lie, really; there was the odd incident with the old store manager Ken Harry didn’t like to reminisce on.

“Come on now Harry. It’s only me here, you know,” Louis whispers after an unexpected pause, and Harry finally gives.

“Fine. I took this job because there aren’t many people around. And when there are, they’re interesting people.” Harry swallows, “People I can make up stories about.”

Harry feels Louis turn to face him on the floor; he can imagine the ocean eyes flit searchingly over his face like they do whenever a late night customer catches Louis’ attention. It’s exciting, somewhat.

“And why do you need to make up stories about people, H?” Louis prods lightly, and the way he says _need,_ instead of _want_ is the breaking point.

“I can’t dream.”

It’s silent, save for Louis’ slow breaths and the car rumbling by eons below them, so Harry sighs before continuing. He’d read somewhere that bearing your soul was meant to be liberating. “It started when I was a kid. There was an accident, and I got diagnosed with a mild case of Charcot-Wilbrand or something. It’s _very_ mild, mind you; I’ve actually got it easy.” Harry shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, really, I can just as easily pretend that I just _don’t_ remember my dreams, but sometimes I get glimpses and it’s the greatest thing and I _miss_ it. So I guess reading and making up stories and stuffing myself with them is like a substitute to dreaming or something, I don’t know. Should’ve just gone down the drug pathway, I tell you.” Harry quirks up his mouth as he finally opens his lids to glance at Louis, who gazed at him in complete curiosity.

“So, the graveyard shift?” he prods, and there’s no pity in his gaze, no sympathy and it’s _great_.

Harry smiles and he wonders if this is what _liberation_ felt like. “I’m not _angsty_ or anything, believe me, but if there was a way I could miss a majority of sleep time, then don’t you think I’d do it?”

Louis seemed to genuinely ponder this, before tilting his head and answering, “I suppose so. You’ve got quite a brain on you, Styles.” He lays back and stares up at their bright companions in contemplation as Harry basks in his liberation. There’s a pause, before Louis lifts himself up again and points rather accusingly down at Harry. “ _Wait_. So on the first day, when you told me that you ‘heard’ that dreams could be loud, you were being _literal_? Because there’d be no other way you’d know unless you’d _heard_ it? Is that insensitive?”

Harry breaks out into laughter then, a roar that quite possibly reached the tips of Andromeda billions of years away. “ _God_ Louis, yes. Yes, there’s no other way I could have known. My philosophy means nothing now, you see right through me.” He breaks down into giggles as Louis grins down at him, accompanying laughter close to his thin lips.

He shushes Harry with a light hand over his mouth after, with a pointed glance, “This is quite enigmatic Harry. Because of your vampire-esque middle name, I could easily dub you a vampire who never sleeps right this instant. But wait, I can do better.” He closes his eyes once again, hand continuing to subdue the titter threatening to break through Harry’s jaws once more. His eyes widen suddenly, hands thrown in the air in overzealous joviality. “Fucking _eureka_. You’re a city Harry.”

Harry sits up then, genuine curiosity dismissing his giggles. A vampire, he had been expecting. “A city? Explain please.”

Louis stares at him, eyes crinkled and twinkling despite the complete lack of light. “Cities never sleep. There’s always someone up and about and _living_. But at the same time, there’s always someone sleeping, in slumber, in darkness. There’re always a million different stories going on, but in the end they all belong to the city because the stories are happening _there._ The city in itself is a story, H. You’re a city, Harry Styles. A mad one, but a city nonetheless.” He winks as he finishes, and Harry could actually kiss him right then and there if not for the fear of missing his lips in the darkness.

“A city,” Harry murmurs instead of ‘ _you would be the brightest of all stars’_. “A city is not what I was expecting.”

“Besides, you’re not missing much in dreams,” Louis continues, waving a hand to the stars in nonchalance. “Sure, there’s always the occasional great one and the occasional _really_ great one,” Harry chuckles as Louis grins, “But more often than not there are nightmares. And those are killer, because it’s literally your own _mind_ trying to hurt you. I’d think the dreams and nightmares you experience on a daily basis are more than enough, Harry.”

Louis finishes with a soft grin, his gaze finally off the sky and Harry returns it; they may as well have been stardust because Harry’d never felt lighter. “Now, I’m just wondering which of those you are on a daily basis, Lou?”

“Shut the fuck up Harry, I’m a fucking _dream_. Have you _heard_ my opinions on the social situation? Fucking dream worthy.” Harry shakes his head in fondness, instead of nodding and agreeing whole heartedly.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

Then they’re laughing and eventually, the sun does come up over the skyscrapers and shitty apartment buildings and the stars fade away, but only after hours of hushed stories and wishes and whispers exchanged. _(“I’ve also seen The Dead Poets Society. Practically makes me an English Major, I’d say.” “Shut the fuck up Harry, that movie was fucking_ ace _”)_ Harry only realizes the time after Perrie texts him in confusion, and Liam calls Louis in alarm. In the end, the milk does go bad. And it’s incredibly worth it.

**x**

“Louis’ journal, Day Four, hour two. I’ve got a firm grip on the phenomenon that is life in the gas station. However, Liam’s dark brooding lover has yet to appear, and the days are winding on, slow as they might be. Also my sleeping schedule is fucked, thanks Harry.”  Louis grabs a wad of newly delivered lottery tickets from his perch on the countertop and throws them rather halfheartedly at Harry’s kneeling behind.

“Heeey,” Harry drawls, as they hit his back with a light thud. “There could be a winner in there.” Louis scoffs as Harry slowly gets up from the energy drink aisle and plods back to the currently inhabited counter. “If that were even remotely possible Harry, I would have scratched up all these tickets by now.” Louis yawns as he hops off the counter to let a chuckling Harry through. Their banter is cut short, however, by the jingling of the door as it swings open and lets a well dressed man stride in.

Louis returns to his act of perusing the aisles as another late night customer, an act he had become accustomed to whenever a customer walked into the store while he was present. ( _“I’m trying to observe them Harry, I might as well learn something about the strange people that visit Quick Stop!s at four AM.” “You visited-” “Shut up.”)_

Harry chuckles lightly as Louis pretends to strangle himself with licorice behind the man, who had grabbed a handful of Camels from the cigarette rack and strode quickly to Harry.

“What? Something funny, boy? Hurry the hell up,” the man growls, as he tosses the packs on the counter, strewing them around. Harry is surprised; he has seen his fair share of harried businessmen, but never had any so much as spoken to him, let alone been rude to him. Behind the man, Louis slowly puts the licorice down, his eyes hard.

Harry stays silent as he checks out the cigarettes, the man tapping his feet unnecessarily. “Didn’t I say to hurry up? Some people actually have to work hard for a living unlike you bastard kids nowadays.”

Harry swallows as he sees Louis slowly stride over from the corner of his eye. It doesn’t bother him necessarily, what the man was saying. He’s seen Niall deal with rude customers before; not responding was really the only option. “Sixteen seventy four.”

“It can’t possibly be that much, kid, are you trying to weasel me out of my fucking money? I’m not a bloody idiot, ring it up again or I’m calling your fucking manager and having your skinny-ass fired. Do you hear m-”

Harry groans lightly as he glances at Louis who had arrived next to him, his voice calm but his eyes frighteningly fiery. “I think you should go, mate.”

 “Louis, don’t-” Harry begins, as the man stops his abrasively gesturing hands and leers down at the shorter boy.

“No, Harry, he’s being a rude imbecile and you do not have to deal with it.” Louis takes another step forward as the man snorts and crosses his arms in a pitiful attempt at showing off his apparent superiority.

“What the fuck did you just call me? This is between me and this fucking kid who’s trying to rob me. Now back off or both you and your faggot boyfriend are getting it.” At this Louis steps forward with a growl, as the man leers in satisfaction. He was only looking for a fight, Harry knew, an excuse to escape from whatever shitty problems were happening in his life. However, Harry wouldn’t let the man’s escape be here, here in the perpetually lit gas station where Harry had found himself a safe haven. It wouldn’t be _here_ , where Harry could pretend that he was the only one alive, that the gas station was the only place of light and peace and serenity for miles and miles. And it definitely wouldn’t be here, where stood a boy Harry was frighteningly fond of, whose eyes which usually shone timelessly were dark, fists shaking. It almost frightened Harry, the ball of anger which exploded in his chest just then, his mind reeling with inane thoughts to _protect, defend, preserve._

“Get the fuck out of here, right now.” Harry is almost surprised at how calm his voice is, considering the angry ball of heat in his chest. It doesn’t feel like it’s him, as he steps quickly out of the counter and in front of Louis.

“What the fuck Harry-”

“You don’t tell me what to do, you fucking queer,” the man spits, and Harry feels Louis clutch angrily at his side, his body practically shaking in fury.

“Shut the fuck up you cowardly old man,” Louis hisses, as he attempts to step forward again, only to be stopped as Harry reaches for his hand behind him. At his touch, Harry feels Louis calm slightly, the anger exuding off him dampening.

“Take your cigarettes and go and figure out whatever shit is going on in your life. Leave,” Harry commands, handing over the packs of cigarettes. The man seems to prepare to rebut, his chest heaving beneath his wrinkled yet evidently expensive shirt. The gas station returns to silence then, the constant, eternal whirring the only sound to reverberate loudly behind Louis’ quiet fleeting breaths and the man’s deep ones. It remains silent for moments that Harry doesn’t count, his eyes concentrated on the man who had grown rigid in front of him, his brain immersed in a continuous, never ending chant of “ _LouisLouisLouisLouis”_ as the boy behind him clutches harder at his hand, like a lifeline preventing him from breaking this apparently eternal silence. Finally there is change after minutes or hours or seconds of nothing, as the man finally breaks and grabs the cigarettes and leaves the store, his eyes not leaving the ground.

“Well that was the most excitement I’ve ever experienced at four am, hands down,” Harry sighs eventually, turning to Louis who still stood glaring at the shut door and also, still clutching his hand. “Are you ok Lou?”

And yet, Louis still doesn’t move from where he stands, though he lets Harry’s hand fall back down to his side, and it’s different. _He’s_ different. Everything’s different. The light near the door still flickers and the dairy fridges still whir and the lottery tickets are still just strips of paper filled with false hopes, but it’s strange. The ethereal carelessness the two once had together was cut, it was evident. The free ignorance they had adopted the past few days was gone; the gas station selfishly used as an escape thrown back into reality in a huff.

They’re back. They’re not in the only place of serenity and light and peace in a land of dark, they aren’t free of problems and worries and troubles. It hits like waking from a long nights sleep; inevitable but with desperate hopes of returning to slumber, ignorant yet in _peace_. What were they thinking? As if they’d be allowed to escape into a Neverland forever, spend the rest of the nights of their lives entombed in the perpetual light of the gas station, breathing stories and secrets to one another.

 “Yeah. But I, um, have to go.” And it’s Louis’ voice that makes it official; reality finally unlocks the last locked door they had put up subconsciously and it’s devastating. “Here’s a twenty to pay for that bastards stuff. I’ll, um, see you tomorrow Harry.”

And it’s over.

It’s gone.

Harry doesn’t see him tomorrow.

**x**

It’s dark and Ed’s door becomes his new beacon.

The knock is quiet and alone and filled with goodbyes that were never said. “He’s gone and I never got a head start on that heartbroken poem.”

“First let’s get drunk.”

“Thank-you.”

**x**

Louis’ watching Animal Planet when Liam finally wanders down the hall of their shared flat in sleepy curiosity. “You didn’t go to the gas station last night.”

“Keen observation, pal,” Louis replies, mouth full of oatmeal, despite that fact that at many points in his life, Louis had referred to oatmeal as ‘ _another fucking thing humans decided to take away from horses, fucking hell, their freedom and now their fucking food.’_ On the television, two Argentinean anacondas continue to mate, narrated sensually by an enthusiastic Aussie-accented man. It’s all rather unusual.

“You’re watching Animal Planet,” Liam observes, plopping himself down beside Louis, newly poured bowl of cereal in hand.

“That I am, Payne. That I am.” Louis takes another mindless gulp of oatmeal, mind evidently somewhere far from the sensual marshes of Argentina. “Humans are a great species, you know. Filming two anacondas getting it on. What if they want their privacy? They can’t exactly fucking _defend_ themselves, can they? Fucking _people_.” His voice takes a slightly bitter tone, an octave too bitter to be in defense of the decency of Argentinean anacondas, really.

Liam notices; he always does. “What happened? You give up on finding Zayn or something?”

Louis rolls his eyes and throws his bowl of oatmeal disgustedly onto their dark coffee table. “ _Yes_ , ok Liam. Fucking yes. The chances of your little dark haired stranger coming to a gas station convenience store at fucking three o clock in the morning is unlikely. So I gave up. Sorry.”

“You don’t sound particularly sorry.”

“ _Fucking hell_ Liam, what do you _want_ me to do? Break is over in a day, and guess what I’ve done for the past 4 nights?” Louis starts manically, putting up a hand to stop Liam before he can give an obnoxiously innocent answer. “I was at a fucking _Quick Stop!_ when I could have been fucking having the time of my life.”

“I was under the impression that you _were_ having the time of your life,” Liam comments, narrowing his eyes as Louis stills.

“Why would I be having the time of my life at a gas station convenience store at three in the morning? Why-”

“ _Because_ Lou,” Liam starts, eyes narrowing further, and this might actually be the most terrible morning of Louis’ life. Oatmeal, mating anacondas and a thin eyed Liam. Terrible. “ _Because_ every time we went to a party this past week, you left _promptly_ at 1:30 to go that fucking _Quick Stop!_. Because every morning when I get up for my jog you come through the door with a smile on your face and a comment about how _fucking amazing_ Harry is. _Because_ two nights ago, you didn’t come home and I thought something happened but no, you were on a fucking roof for six hours. BecauseLou, you didn’t go for the first time last night, and now this morning you’re a bitch and watching Animal Planet. So _tell me_.”

“I’m not a _bitch_. That term is fucking derogatory, how could you _even_ Liam I’m-” Louis starts, poking an accusatory finger at Liam’s cereal-filled mouth. However, Liam continues to scowl and if Louis hadn’t known how bright his hard set eyes could shine when he grinned or how comfortable his menacing muscles were under a large hoodie, he might actually have been intimidated.

“Focus, Lou. I thought you liked Harry. What happened?” Liam urges, and Louis curses Pandora to this _day_ for letting out the evil entity of _persistence_ which entombed itself so completely in Liam. They have a minor staring match which is over much too soon, because under Louis’ nonchalance and flippancy he really _is_ bothered, incredibly so.

Louis sighs, leaning back to rest his head against their too old sofa. “ _Fine_. Something happened, but it’s not the _reason_ I left, ok? It just kind of put things into perspective.” Liam nods with apt attention, tossing his now empty cereal bowl onto the coffee table and grabbing Louis’ discarded oatmeal with a shrug.

“Alright. What was this ‘incident’? And what exactly did it put into perspective?” Liam raises one eyebrow in expectance, spooning a dollop of oatmeal eagerly into his mouth, which _really_ wasn’t helping Louis’ current state of mental agitation.

Louis sighs again. “It was nothing, really. Just that this douche of a man walked in two nights ago and was rude to Harry. That’s all, but-”

“But?”

“ _But_ everything, Liam!” Louis explodes. He glares at their textured ceiling and fails to swallow the anger and frustration and resentment and _guilt_ that he’d been suppressing so poorly for the past day. “It’s so _stupid_ because I was in complete denial. I exploded to Harry all my concerns and frustrations about the world there in that fucking _store_ and I subconsciously decided that that place was a safe haven _away_ from all that! But it wasn’t and I was thrown out of that fantasy when that imbecile walked in and proved that hey, it doesn’t matter _where_ I am, the shit that I hate so much will be everywhere. And that’s so disappointing, I left. Because there’s no point in wallowing in denial.” He clenches his eyes and fists closed because he was overreacting, he _knew_ , but the feeling of betrayal that was hidden so well until now was out and it _hurt_.

“Lou-”

“And _no_ Liam, I’m not going through my mid-life crisis or anything. I’m just disappointed. That’s it. I just have to move on,” Louis says, finally opening his eyes, now hard with determination.

Liam stares at him with something sad in his eyes, so Louis looks away. He’s seen a look similar to that before; the sad, _betrayed_ look that had whispered over Harry’s face before he had up and _left_. “Okay, do what you have to do. But did you at least say anything to Harry? You guys seemed like mates, even after only four days.”

Louis ignores the burn of guilt that touched his chest then, but his eyes remain determined and hard. “Exactly. We basically only knew each other four days. It was nothing.”

Liam continues to look pitying, and Louis sighs as he gets up from the too old couch and relieves their textured ceiling of his determined glare. He also decidedly ignores Liam’s quiet remark as he exits the room.

“If you were in denial before, I have no idea what you’re in now.”

**x**

It’s on a Monday three weeks after Louis had disappeared that Harry’s Regular returns. It’s a sleepy night, uni having started again and Harry working a double despite Niall’s earlier whispers of ‘ _that’s fucking illegal Harry, sue their asses.’_ Harry waved it off, of course, because he didn’t have class on Mondays and rent was coming up and money was convenient.

The nights since Louis’ disappearance were quiet, too quiet maybe, but after two nights of unanswered wondering text messages filled with harried question marks, Harry had given up and settled into an unsettling feeling of resignation. And despite Ed’s occasional sympathetic glances and Niall’s disappointed air when he walked in at two and that utter _emptiness_ Harry felt around the store sometimes around four AM, it was okay. He missed Louis, he did, but eventually he stopped comparing the blue of the _Quick Stop!_ sign to Louis’ eyes and the font of chip packages to his tattoos and it was _okay_.

The sting of hurt and disappointment were less easy to eradicate, but Harry had recently become a firm believer in the fact that feelings very well _could_ disappear over time.

-

The bell over the door tinkles, just as Harry attempts to swallow his fourth yawn of the night while simultaneously attempting to answer _‘_ _What goes around the world but stays in a corner?’_ He decides on ‘a stamp’, before cheering silently as he moves on to level 572.

It isn’t pitiful.

Harry finally looks up, and catches the amused glance his Regular was throwing him from the cigarette rack. _His Regular. Zayn. The Regular._

“Oh, shit,” says Harry. The Regular glances up curiously, and Harry notices that he looks well kept today. _Very_ well kept. Instead of his usual patched up t-shirt or expensive-looking leather jacket, he was sporting a sumptuous tuxedo. His midnight hair, so often splattered with oceans or sunsets, was clean, coiffed and professional. The lost eyes and unshaven visage which Harry so often based his chronicles on were stable and well cared for. If Harry had ever placed his Regular as _lost_ before, he was now, undoubtedly, _found_.

“There a problem?” The Regular asks cautiously, walking towards the counter. Harry resists the urge to scream that yes, there was indeed a problem; the problem was the lack of blue eyed individual next him to yelp and send a screaming text message along the lines of ‘OH SHIT LI YOUR LOVER JUST WALKED IN AND HE LOOKS HOT AS FUCK’ to an equally excited buff friend.

Instead, Harry says, “No. You just look rather nice.”

The Regular, instead of hitting Harry in the jaw and walking out with his cigarettes, says, “Thanks. I was at an art show.”  He places his Marlboros onto the counter with a surprised half smile and Harry stills. This was _it_. For once, Harry could learn the actual story of someone instead of placing them in the centre of his own imagination. His Regular; the artist, the author, the embodiment of _intriguing_ , looked welcoming and pretty and _nice_ , so Harry decides to delve.

“Really? So you’re an artist then?” Harry asks curiously, as he checks out the Marlboros and to his relief, he doesn’t leave. Harry slips out his phone then, and sends a quick text message to Louis, though without much hope. It was a weekday, uni had started, and behind his text of ‘ _zayn’s here.’_ are six other unanswered ones.  Harry isn’t optimistic, but he resents the little flare of hope that riles up in his chest after he presses _send_.

“Yeah, actually. Thought you’d have noticed by now after all the times I walked in here with my palette all over me,” The Regular chuckles, and for once he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to run off back into his life of mysteries and paint.

Harry laughs, ignoring the lack of response from his phone. “I guess I made have inferenced a tad. I’m Harry, by the way. Thought we should establish that after a year.” His outstretched pale hand meets The Regular’s tan one in a steady shake.

“Zayn.”

Harry smiles and _Zayn_ smiles back and if Liam were here, he’d swoon for sure, Harry was certain. Zayn extracts his hand rather abashedly then, and says, “Sorry I’m not usually this friendly, mate. I just-”

“No, no there’s no obligation to make small talk with the tall stranger behind the counter at your local _Quick Stop!_ , I swear!” Then they’re talking and at first it’s Harry and his roaring laugh and curious observations but eventually, Zayn tells him vague stories about his life and his art and how the art show was actually _his_ art show, and for the first time since Harry began to observe him, he was _glowing_. He spoke as if he hadn’t spoken in years, his accent thickening in excitement and his voice lowering when he became more reserved, and Harry wonders _why_ exactly the peculiar gas station convenience store seemed to have that effect on people. And talking with this glowing, mysterious, intriguing individual almost makes it so that Harry forgets the prick of hurt he gets when he glances down at his unresponsive phone.

Eventually Zayn leaves, but not before typing up his number into Harry’s phone because he was ‘cool’, as he put it, and it makes Harry smile much wider than it should.

Harry notices, some minutes later, that he’d stopped referring to Zayn as his _Regular_. It makes him warm.

**x**

It’s 7 o clock when Louis startles awake as Liam slams the front door to go for his daily run. He groans, cursing Liam as he does on a daily basis, before rubbing his bleary eyes and reaching haphazardly for his phone. He had classes in the afternoons on Mondays, so there were literally _zero_ reasons for Louis to be up at this hour. And he had just gotten over his fucked up sleeping schedule too. He hates Liam.

_zayn’s here_

Louis blinks. It takes him a moment to register that it’s _Harry_ who’s texted him. Harry, who Louis hasn’t heard from in 3 weeks. _Harry_ , who Louis has been effectively ignoring in order to ‘move on’. _Harry_ whose shift ends at six; a fact Louis’ sleep deprived mind decidedly ignores as he stumbles into the bathroom with a steady stream of ‘ _shit, fuck, motherfucking shit_.’

Louis hurriedly goes through his morning routine, poking in his contacts just as the faint sun rays filter through his blinds and the early birds begin to titter. He curses himself lightly as he realizes how utterly _unnecessary_ his contacts were as he boards the bus that was rounding the corner as he had leapt down the stairs from his flat, phone in hand. Only after he steps off the bus two stops later does Louis receive the epiphany that Harry had sent the text almost two hours ago, and was probably in bed asleep, completely unaware of Louis’ utter idiocy. Louis groans as he makes the all too familiar trek to the gas station; he’d also gone and broken his three week abnegation from the store.

He pauses outside the door to the store; he needed coffee, he reasons. The _Quick Stop!_ sold coffee, and that was the sole reason Louis was going inside. The _sole_ reason.

The bell tinkles as he walks in. For the first time since Louis had stepped into the store all those weeks ago, it was bathed in sunlight rather than the somber darkness it was usually surrounded by. It was strange, and Louis doesn’t let himself feel embarrassed for the sense of wisfullness that surrounds him as he glances around at the familiar surroundings.

Louis’ gaze then shifts to the counter, his eyes widening. Where he had expected to find Perrie, the lovely girl he’d met as he and Harry had descended abashedly from the roof, he saw a mess of auburn curls. It was Harry. Harry, who was currently in a peaceful slumber, head resting lightly on the lottery ticket filled counter top.

Louis approaches slowly; gulping as he leans over to glance at Harry’s sleeping face. It was innumerable how many times Louis had read the same description of a sleeping face. They were all the same; the sleeping person seemed free from all worries, they looked younger, they looked innocent. Louis would often roll his eyes in distaste and put the book down if he came upon of those phrases in a story, because despite his protests he _was_ literarily pretentious. But Harry looked different. Or rather, he looked completely the _same_. Harry looked exactly the same as he did when he was awake, face serene and unmoving. The only thing missing was his blinding smile, and these revelations made Louis appreciate how completely young and innocent Harry looked on a day to day basis. Louis had to remind himself that while Harry looked calm, his mind was empty and completely dreamless. This poked hard at Louis and he gulps again as he glances down at Harry’s ink stained arms cradling his head. They held onto his hands, the hands which searched so strenuously for stories to be his dreams.

Louis glances down at his own ink stained hands; the result of endless nights of essays and poems and analyzing since school had begun again. He stares in distaste at the hands which seemed to embody all that he despised in the world; meaningless school and a meaningless degree to go on in a soulless life. Louis realizes, suddenly, that there was no safe space for him to escape from all he detested in the world. He carried all he hated within himself, and the freedom he had felt while loitering around with Harry was the fact that he had finally gotten the chance to express himself.

 

They say one receives an epiphany once or twice in one’s life, and Louis decides that he receives one of his while on the bus to the gas station earlier that morning and his second while glancing from his hands to Harry’s sleeping face. It was simple. If there was ever any chance to do anything positive or beneficial or important or life altering with his education and all the bullshit he despised, it would be to make Harry happy. Harry searched for stories; Louis would write him stories so he’d stop searching and sleep. And maybe, if they’re lucky, the stories will make the vaguest of appearances in Harry’s slumbering brain.

He was a city, Louis reminds himself. And a city holds only the most unique of stories. And he’d give Harry that. No matter what.

 

**x**

Harry didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep, as he’d never really done so on the job. After all, the core reason Harry had taken the unusually timed post was to _avoid_ sleep, so the fact that he succumbed to the slumber was vaguely surprising.

Harry opens his eyes to sunlight. It bathes the store in a golden light that only the first minutes of sun rise could ever exhibit. It’s beautiful, Harry decides. He didn’t favor it above his usual shroud of darkness, but the way the gold swept across the fruit baskets and postcard rack and brown feathered hair was beautiful, he’d admit.

Brown feathered hair? Harry jolts up in surprise, the full force of the fact that he’d _slept through his shift_ hitting him as he leans over the countertop he’d been slumbering on to stare down at the head of auburn hair below him. It was _Louis_ , sitting and leaning back against the counter as he’d so often done during their late night rendezvous.

Harry pushes his curls out of his eyes in bewilderment, leaning down over the counter to stare at Louis who sat calmly, etching away on the back of a wrinkled receipt. “Louis?”

Louis jumps, turning his head upward to face Harry fully. “God, Harry you almost killed me, fucking hell.”  Harry continues to stare down at him, evidently disoriented.

“What’re you doing here?”

Louis looks sheepish then, patting the spot on the floor next to him invitingly. “What, am I not welcome anymore? I’m wounded,” he jokes, but the façade falls quickly as Harry continues to stare at him questioningly. “Will you come join me down here, H?”

Harry slowly hops over the counter, letting himself fall with a soft thud next to Louis. He was tired, Harry could tell, but the dark circles, so prominent when Louis used to sit and rant to him all those weeks ago, were lighter now. Harry gazes at him unabashedly; only three weeks, but he’s hit with a feeling of yearning that gave him the sense that he hadn’t seen the man before him in lifetimes. The ocean eyes were still bright and the tattoos still curled upward, but the usually mischievous face seemed nervous, almost, guilty even.

“Hey, Lou. I missed you.” He’s blunt as usual and his lips quirk up slightly at the flush that raises itself onto Louis’ cheeks.

“ _Shit_ Harry.”

“What?”

Louis sighs heavily, glancing at Harry quickly before squeezing his eyes shut and leaning his head against the counter. “I’m going to make a speech.”

“My daily eloquence level _has_ been dangerously low,” Harry muses, gazing at Louis who tries to restrict the fleeting smile that crosses his lips.

“I’m sure,” Louis starts, sitting up again and staring earnestly at Harry. “Ok now _listen,_ Harry. I’m sorry. Incredibly, disgustingly sorry. I’m a coward, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I-”

“I don’t think you’re a coward.”

Louis groans, waving an insistent hand in front of Harry’s face. “You don’t think badly of any of Earth’s creatures, H. Except for that scumbag. That was actually rather awe-inspiring, how you handled that guy. I was impressed, and I would have told you that in person if I wasn’t such a _coward_.” Louis pauses, glancing at Harry who was now staring at him with apt attention. “See, Harry, when I left and didn’t come back and didn’t answer to your texts and was a complete and utter _arsehole_ it wasn’t because of you. I thought that this place, this fucking _Quick Stop!,_ could hide us from all the shit I hate in this world. But I realized, just recently while staring rather creepily at your face, that all my previous premonitions and assumptions of weeks past were untrue. Oh yeah, and I turned the sign of the store to _closed_ by the way. You’re welcome.” Louis cuts himself off again, waiting for the affirming nod from Harry hesitantly.

“I appreciate it.”

Louis nods and continues, some confidence reentering his eyes. “Alright then. So anyways, after the many epiphanies of this morning, I have come to new conclusions. That sense of security and _safety_ I felt while ravaging to you all those nights wasn’t because of the store, Harry. It was because of _you_.” Louis stops then, staring nervously at Harry, though his gaze steady. He stops as if waiting for Harry to throw him out, or kiss him, or both, but seconds pass and they sit in silence.

“Um, H? I kind of just confessed my undying feelings for you-”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts, turning to face him solidly. This was _it_ , this was the climax of the story he had never actually wrote for the two. “Louis, the first time I saw you, I wanted to _know_ you. And not know you as in make up a story for you, but rather just _know_ you completely. And I was nervous of letting you keep me company here at first, but by doing that I got to know you. Every part of you. And I loved that. I loved your voice when you ranted and your eyes and your smile and your stories.” Harry pauses, taking a deep breath as Louis continues to stare in slight awe. The convenience store, so utterly and incredibly _significant_ to each of their stories hummed; a sound Harry had eventually learned to appreciate. “I told you things about myself that barely anyone knows. You are very, incredibly important to me Lou.”

They’re silent again, Harry bringing a slow smile to his face as Louis blinks.  He groans then, shocking Harry, and throws his face into his hands. “That was a _much_ better confession than mine, Harry. I hate you. I also like you. A lot.”

Harry’s grin reaches full potential then, as he leans impossibly close to Louis’ scowling face. “I like you too.”

Louis glances up at him and after a moment of contemplation, mutters a quick “ _I’m going to fucking initiate this_ ” before grabbing Harry’s face with unavailingly gentle ink stained hands and pressing his lips to his own. It’s warm and soft and bathed in sunlight, so contrary to their usual interactions in fluorescent light and all-consuming darkness.

Louis finally pulls away and grins, mirroring Harry’s own evident ecstasy. “Took long enough, I’d say. Niall was betting two days, tops.”

“Niall missed you, I think,” Harry adds, taking Louis’ hand and pulling him close. “It was actually kind of sad.”

“I’ll make sure to make it up to him. I missed his fake blondness,” Louis sighs, leaning his head lightly onto Harry’s loose shoulders as they gaze out into the empty gas station. “And Harry? Let’s make sure our post-coital talks don’t revolve around Niall too, ok?”

Harry laughs loudly and the warmth they’re encircled by has nothing to do with the rising sun.

**x**

Harry walks in for his shift later that night to the eerily comforting scene of Louis and Niall laughing loudly together as they munched on stolen goods. He is a little disappointed in himself for succumbing to the celebratory Twix Niall had waved temptingly in front of his face. _(“It’s a celebration, Harry! You can finally have sex with someone I like!” “If that’s directed towards Nick-” “Who’s Nick?” “God damn it, Niall”)_

After their much awaited reconciliation, the two had spent the lasting majority of Harry’s shift talking, for three weeks seemed to amass a multitude of stories to be shared. Louis took to Harry’s unexpected acquaintance of Zayn with as much excitement as Harry had expected, quickly formulating a plan to somehow manage to lock both Liam and Zayn inside the convenience store and urge mating. ( _‘It’s simple, Harry, text your new-found buddy Zayn that there’s an emergency and he’ll come swooping in-“ “Emergency at a gas station convenience store? I’ve only just met him, Lou.” “Shut up now, it’ll work. They will mate. I’ll make sure of it.”)_

“But seriously, Harry. Why can’t you just text him now? I can call Liam and they’ll both show up and we can go to the roof and try not to listen to them getting it on. It’s _fool-proof,”_ Louis tries for the millionth time, back to his perch on the countertop as Harry painstakingly refilled the ever popular cigarette rack.

Harry scoffs, lightly shaking his head in fondness. “ _Because_ Lou, I met him yesterday. I can’t actually just say ‘hey Zayn, we became acquainted yesterday, I’ve found your soul mate by the way’. It’s _weird_.”

“You’re weird,” Louis retorts childishly, leaping over the counter to approach Harry and rest his chin forlornly onto his shoulder. “Besides, the ultimate _reason_ I even blessed you with my presence here was to get Liam and Zayn together. Do you want that all to be in vain?”

Harry sighs, turning slightly to pat Louis on the head. “Sorry, Lou. But it’ll work out. Every story has a finish. And if it doesn’t, we always have your plan as back up, right?”

“I resent you so much I could get you an E-Reader for Christmas.”

“I hope that’s a hyperbole, Lou.”

“It’s fucking _not_.”

-

It’s 3 o clock when Louis begins to yawn.

“You’re yawning, Louis,” Harry muses from his post behind the counter, where he had just finished serving the one and only customer of the night. “I don’t think you have the capacity to visit me at five in the morning anymore. Uni and all.”

Louis scoffs as he waves a hand imperturbably in Harry’s direction. “Not everyone’s a vampire like you Harry. Or as a wise man once said, a city. Terribly disappointing. But you’re right.”

“Which is _why_ , Louis Tomlinson, I’ve decided that we should actually see each other _outside_ of this _Quick Stop!_ ” Harry continues, smiling. “It’s our _place_ and all, but you know Lou, this lightning isn’t very generous and you’ve actually never seen me outside of this company shirt. That’s rather traumatizing.”

“Did you just ask me on a date, Harry? One that does _not_ involve cold roofs and good company?” Louis winks as he picks at Harry’s shirt thoughtfully. “The green isn’t actually that bad you know. Almost sexy, even”

Harry chuckles roughly, seconds away from his signature roar. “Thanks. And yes. But with the good company.”

“Good.”

**x**

Harry takes Louis on a date the next night, a real actual date that involves actual dinner and actual nice clothing and an actual bed, rather than cool tiles of the convenience store. It’s warm and safe and Louis doesn’t even flinch when they pass by a boy with dark glasses flipping through a Kindle on their walk through the park. (It might have something to do with the fact that Harry was leading him to his apartment right then, but.)

-

“Dreams are like stories right? Stories your mind makes up?” he says later, when the night is less dark and their hands are intertwined. He feels Harry nod lightly next to him; he practically feels his thoughtful smile.

“Then I’ll make sure you never miss your dreams, Harry Styles, because I’ll write you enough stories to fill your mind up for years.”

Harry shifts on the bed to face him, pale green eyes boring into Louis’ in the dim as he searches. “So what you were writing in the store the other day? You were writing a story?” Louis flushes lightly, thinking back to the wrinkled receipt in his jeans on the floor.

“Yeah,” he whispers, because this was intimate and his actual voice would break it, he was sure. “Yeah, Harry. It’s impossible to read and possibly terrible, but. For you.”

The soft smile Harry gives him after makes Louis feel more content than he’s ever been.

“Thank you, Louis.”

**x**

At three o clock two week later, Harry and Louis hear the bell above the door chime. Liam might actually be the Batman, considering how fast he was swinging open the door only moments later.

“Um hi. I’m Liam, I don’t know if you remember.”

“I do. I’m Zayn.”

Harry and Louis are halfway to the roof as Harry whispers, “Didn’t I tell you every story has to finish?”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> As previously said, I own NONE of the brands mentioned above (and there are a lot, oh my). But I do hope it was enjoyable! Reviews, complaints, thoughts or comments would be incredibly appreciated. Thank you for reading.


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